The Darkness Within Her Eyes
by elliott ashes
Summary: [ON HIATUS][crossover with CSI] Sheilacentric. One action sets in motion a string of events, changing the lives of everyone in Genoa City. [Email me if you would like to know what happens next, because I probably won't update this any time soon]
1. Shadows of Stars

The Darkness Within Her Eyes

A Sheila fic. What happens when Sheila does something so terrible that it will forever change the lives of the residents of Genoa City?

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to "The Young and the Restless" TV show.

Background: This takes place during the late 2005 season, when Sheila and Tom are working together to try to kill Lauren Fenmore. This is after Tom tries to reveal Sheila's plan to save himself but it doesn't work and makes Sheila very angry with him. Please review, this is my first Y and R fic! Even flames are okay, just review and I'll try to improve the story! Oh, and I know my spelling is literally crap (okay, not _literally_ ) but I spellchecked it. If you find any mistakes please tell me.

By the way, a line of v's means change of scene.

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Sheila stood alone in her apartment, planning, plotting. She was soon to have her revenge. But Tom, he kept getting in the way. She knew she couldn't trust him. She didn't want anything to do with him. She would be happy to have him dead.

But Sheila couldn't do that. Tom had connections. Sheila had manipulated much more cunning people. In the end, they were all puppets, and she was the one who held all the strings. Just let people think they were in control, and you could make them do whatever you wanted.

_I am in complete control of all of them, _thought Sheila. Her mouth twisted into a smile, cold and harsh. She could almost laugh. Tom thought he was all big and tough, but he was in the palm of her had and her fingers were wrapped around him, able to squeeze the life out of him anytime she felt like it.

But there was one person Sheila knew she couldn't control. Herself. Her thoughts flowed and twisted in a bizarre disorderly way, swirling within her mind, like a tornado, her emotions threatening to rip her apart from the inside. Thought forming and thrashing about so rapidly that she felt like crying out.

The room was nicely decorated. Sheila had money. Being the skilled manipulator she was, she had been able to come across it fairly easily. Amazing how stupid some people were. Sheila had fooled and controlled several people in her life, some rather wealthy. Of course, she used this to her advantage. She would have to be a fool not to. And Sheila was no fool. Insane, perhaps. Pathological liar, definitely. But no one could ever call her a fool, unless they themselves were a pathological liar.

Sheila had used her money to rent a very nice apartment. It was clean and organized, decorated with flowers and the like. However, for the apartment of a person who had been living there for almost a month, if one looked closely they would realize something. In this room, there were no photographs or letters, nothing that could possibly identify the person staying there. And Sheila liked it that way.

One would also notice that in that room, there were no lights on. The only light in the entire room poured from a window, where a small area of window had managed to avoid being hidden beneath a thick mahogany curtain. From that tiny light source, a sliver of light fell upon the wall and floor. Sheila liked it dark. There was no light to sting her eyes, to cloud her mind. There was only darkness, as it was within her as well. She could be alone with her thoughts, to try and organize them into some comprehendible order. She never completely succeeded in this task.

The darkness was especially unusual in the apartment as it was the early afternoon. Sheila stood in the center of the room in total darkness, aside from that small sliver of light. Some of this light fell upon her, reflecting of her cherrywood red-brown hair and rather pale skin. Some may even consider her beautiful.

Yet Sheila's face was overshadowed by her eyes. They were a dark brown and the light that reflected in her cold gaze made them look like endless amber oceans, illuminated by stars on a dark night. But that was not what was so starting about her eyes. No, far more noticeable than their beauty was the darkness that seemed to be within them. The darkness that was the things Sheila had seen, the things she had done, the things she had thought. The darkness had become Sheila, and there was no light within her to illuminate this darkness.

The door opened and Tom entered. The harsh yellow light from the hallway stung Sheila's eyes. Tom was grinning stupidly, the way he often did when he was drunk. "Whyzit so dark n'ere?" he slurred. Sheila felt disgusted with him.

"Tom, I told you I don't want you coming here anymore. You tried to betray me," said Sheila, emphasizing the last few words and pausing to let them make an impact. Apparently they didn't.

"Aw, s'no big deal. I jus fel' 'ike stopping by."

"I want you out of here. Now," Sheila was losing her patience.

"Whadif I don' feel like goin'" challenged Tom.

"You will. Go." Sheila pointed towards the door.

Tom grunted and swung a fist at Sheila. Sheila stopped it in midair with her own smaller. hand, stilling it with surprising strength and steadiness. "You will regret having done that," stated Sheila. Her eyes flashed with anger yet her voice was quiet and threatening. Sheila may be a pathological liar, but she never lied about this sort of thing. Tom would have to be disposed of. He no longer was required by the puppet master. In fact, he was becoming a mere imposition, a problem. And that problem would soon be solved.

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" We need to find a way to get rid of Tom, said Michael Baldwin to his younger brother, Kevin Fisher.

"Yeah. He's like a fly, you swat it, you think you've killed it, and than it flies out of nowhere and starts buzzing around you're head," said Kevin.

"We have to come up with a plan, my oh so poetic brother, to get rid of him for good." Michael was now pacing the room where this secret meeting was going on. Michael, Kevin, and Lauren – Michaels soon to be bride, were the people who were having this meeting.

"Can't we just call the police?" asked Lauren.

"No, Tom always seems to find a way to slip past them. And we can't find any real evidence that will keep him locked up. Ah, the law is a double edged sword indeed," said Michael thoughtfully.

"Now who's being oh-so-poetic," mumbled Kevin.

"At least my poetic statement was good," retorted Michael.

Lauren could almost laugh, despite the seriousness of their situation. Despite the fact that her life was in danger at this very moment, Lauren felt a smile tugging at the edge of her mouth.

"We can wait until Tom strikes again. We can set up tape recorders or video cameras next time he tries to threaten us. That would certainly hold up in court," mused Michael.

"No way. I am not going to be live bait," said Lauren.

"No, you're right. I was being insensitive, I'm sorry," said Michael. They were back at square one, and Michael could feel each second counting down to when they would finally have to face Tom. Or so he thought. How was Michael to know that he would be facing a far more terrible foe.

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It was the next morning. Sheila smiled. There didn't seem to be anything that could stand in the way of her plan. Still, she told herself to proceed with caution. This was never a procedure to be taken lightly. Still, Sheila was calmer about this than most people would be. It was something most people wouldn't even consider. But Sheila was not like most people.

Sheila picked the lock of Tom's apartment. She had forced him to get his own a while ago, when he was getting too hard to bear. "If you had stayed away Tommy I wouldn't have to do this," whispered Sheila. Silently, Sheila entered Tom's apartment and put a deadly poison into Tom's morning booze. Than, like a shadow on the wall, she left the room silently.

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"I can't stand that Tom!" exclaimed Kevin to his mother Gloria. Gloria nodded. Her short blond hair and dangly earrings bounced around as she did this.

"I completely agree. Something has to be done about him," said Gloria.

"Gah, but every time I try to come up with a plan, my mind draws a total blank!" continued Kevin.

"Its exactly the same for me. His very name causes fear to return to my heart!" Gloria said, one hand stretched up towards the sky for dramatic purposes. She was just as oh-so-poetic as her sons.

"I still can't forgive him for what he's done to us, Mom. I can just not forget what he's put us through," said Kevin. Gloria looked proudly at her son.

"I feel so lucky to have such caring boys as you and Michael for my sons," said Gloria.

"And I feel proud to be your son," said Kevin. Gloria smiled. A few years back, she never would have thought she would hear this. Back then, the things Tom had done to Kevin were still fresh in the minds of the both of them, her and Kevin. She would never have thought that Kevin would be able to talk like this to her, to anyone. Back then he had been so troubled, but now he was recovered. Gloria was worried that the reappearance of her ex-husband would send Kevin back to his former ways. And Gloria was not able to take that.

"I wish Tom would die and leave us all alone," said Kevin.

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Two days later Tom Fisher was dead. His death was acknowledged with shock and curiosity, but no one mourned his death. He had lived his life in a way that when he was gone, the world did not mourn the death of a friend, a parent, a son. It only knew the death of a liar, a criminal, and the person who had hurt so many others.

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"Tom's dead," said Michael, breaking the news to Gloria, Lauren, and Kevin.

"What?" exclaimed everyone else.

" He died this morning. He was poisoned," said Michael. His voice was low and emotionless.

Kevin didn't know what to feel. He had certainly hated the man. Tom had hurt him so badly, had ruined the first almost thirty years of Kevin's life. But now that he was gone, Kevin felt a small but consistent pain gnawing away at his insides. _It's hopelessly ironic. Just days ago I was wishing for Tom to die, for a miracle to take him away from me. Is this my miracle?_

Gloria was having trouble grasping the fact. She had hated Tom for what he had don't to her and her family. Than he was gone, than he came back, and now he was dead. Life could be so strange to her.

Lauren felt relieved. The man who had tried to kill her was gone. She didn't know how she was to react to this news, however. He had been Kevin's father and she didn't want to say anything that might offend Kevin. _Wait a minute, Kevin hated the guy_ thought Lauren. Well, if that was the case…

Michael started talking again before Lauren had a chance to say anything. " That solves part of our problem, but I'm worried about whoever poisoned Tom. Tom was suspected to have connections to illegal operations. The police say he was killed with a rare poison. Whoever did this was most likely a skilled assassin. They might come after us, Tom's family, next. The room was filled with an ominous silence.

"We had better prepare," finished Michael.

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In her apartment, Sheila stood once again in the darkness. She had a smile, the kind she only wore when she had done something wonderful. And wonderful for Sheila meant terrible for everyone else. "You had better prepare, Lauren Fenmore. I'm coming for you next."

Yikes! Did you like it? Did you hate it? Review it!


	2. The Plan

The Darkness Within Her Eyes

Chapter 2

Yay! My first chapter 2! In this chapter… well, wait and see.

No one will really care about this, but while I was writing the Sheila part Basket Case by Greenday came on my computer. Oooh, creepy. Or not.

PS no one send a flame saying Greenday sucks or something, because that has nothing to do with my story. And they don't suck. At least not the songs I know. Regardless of what SecretShigurePerson21 says, I like this song. Don't ask who SecretShigurePerson21 is, it's a long story, but they're not a fanfic writer.

PSS if anyone knows Scott's last name can you tell me please?

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Kevin was alone in his apartment. He was afraid. No, more than afraid, he was terrified, terrified as he had not been for years. He had wished Tom would die and he had. Now someone even more dangerous than Tom may be after Kevin's life. Kevin didn't know whom he could trust and who to fear. His closest friends may be his worst enemies. He had a sudden vivid image of a knife being drawn and pressed to his throat. _No! Leave me alone! _He screamed at himself in his mind. "Help me…" he whispered.

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"I'm scared Michael," said Lauren. Michael took her in his arms.

"I'll protect you," he whispered. He was afraid as well. He would do anything in his power to protect Lauren, but he knew that in the end that might not be enough. _Whoever you are, I will fight you. No one may harm Lauren, _thought Michael.

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Sheila was in her apartment. She planned to kill Lauren on her wedding day, next month. It seemed a fitting time to do it. What was supposed to be the happiest day of her life would instead be the end of it. Sheila laughed at the irony. "Oh, poor Lauren," she said sarcastically. She clenched her fists so tightly that her long fingernails bit into her flesh. She took no notice to this, however. She was much to excited about coming up with a plan. She had pictured Lauren's death a thousand times, each scenario more terrible than the last. A few drops of blood fell to the floor.

The death scenes were what kept Sheila going. She could get up in the morning, to this horrible world where everything had been taken away from her. She could continue to live knowing that Lauren would die.

Sheila searched the apartment for something lethal. Something that she could use for inspiration in her plan. She had thousands of ideas, after all. Coming up with them was what she did in her free time. It was almost the only thing she did. The only thing that mattered.

Still searching the apartment, she came across a mirror. **_Hello Sheila. Have you killed her yet? Oh of course you haven't. You know why?_** The person in the mirror asked her.

"Shut up," said Sheila.

_**You know why. It's because you're weak.**_

"Shut up!" Sheila spoke through gritted teeth and her eyes flashed with anger.

You're pathetic. You can't even do this one simple task.   
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Sheila was all but yelling now.   
You're useless Sheila. You're nothing.   
Sheila couldn't think anymore. She was probably yelling but she didn't know. There was a rush of thoughts and images, memories and hallucinations mixed together until she wasn't sure where she was. In the confusion, she felt herself plunging into darkness.   
Shatter. "Huh?" said Sheila jerking back to what seemed to be reality. The mirror was shattered in front of her, her fist extended through it. Drip. Drip. Drip. Something fell to the floor. Something crimson red. It was running down her arms in warm little streams from her hand where she had struck to mirror. Blood. It wasn't bright red, but more a deep purplish shade.   
Hello Sheila said several voices, from the people in the shards of glass. Sheila felt herself once more falling into blackness as a thousand versions of her voice laughed at her.   
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"Hey Mom," said Scott to Lauren over the phone. 

"Hi honey! How's everything going?" said Lauren. She had told Scott about Tom's death, but had greatly downplayed it, giving Scott the impression that Tom most likely died from an allergic reaction. She didn't want Scott to worry unnecessarily. This is something she would later regret.

"Not so good. My writing partner, Brenda was taken to the hospital. I don't know all the details yet, but it sounds pretty serious," said Scott. Lauren could hear the worry in his voice.

"Oh no, Scott, that's terrible!" said Lauren, shocked by the news. She had never met Brenda, but Scott seemed to think she was great so she must be a good person.

"Yeah, I'm going to visit her right about now. You want to come, Mom?"

Lauren was pretty busy that day, with planning the wedding and all. "Oh Scott, I'm so sorry, I can't!" said Lauren and instantly hated herself for it.

Scott sighed. "That's okay, I guess," said Scott.

"No, wait Scott. If Brenda is you're friend she's important to me, too. I can postpone the preparations if it would be for a good cause like this," said Lauren. She didn't know how severly sick Brenda was, what if she died tomorrow? Lauren would probably regret it forever. Besides, Lauren wanted a chance to meat Scott's friend.

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Kevin fell to the ground, breathing hard, the sweat standing out on his forehead. The walls were closing in on him. And nobody would come save him. Not Mom. Not his older brother. Kevin was alone in a harsh world. A world that was killing him with every breath he took echoing loudly in his ears. The walls pulsated around him. Somewhere someone screamed. Maybe it was him, maybe it was someone else, maybe it was his imagination. Reality was blurring before him and he couldn't hold on to anything anymore. Someone he may or may not know wanted him dead. He didn't understand, and he hated that. He hated all of this.

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Sheila woke up in a strange place, in a bed. There were white walls. She recognized this place. It was Memorial Hospital.

"Oh good, you're awake," said a nurse. Sheila turned to face her.

"What happened?" asked Sheila. She hated having to ask this. For once, she wasn't in control of what was happening.

The nurse smiled grimly at her. "That's what the we're all trying to figure out. The person in the apartment next to yours heard a scream and a crash and called 911. They couldn't find any ID, but the landlord said that Brenda Harris was staying in that apartment. Is that you?"

Sheila thought about it. She used the alias Brenda Harris around Scott and Jennifer Mitchels around everyone else. Scott was likely to be the only one who would visit her, and Michael and those others were trying to track down a Jennifer Mitchels so… "Yes, that's me," said Sheila.

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"Michael, I'm going to visit Scott's friend Brenda," said Lauren.

"Are you sure you want to? You're life is in danger after all," said Michael. She could see the concern in his face. He was so caring.

"Don't worry Michael. I'm not going to be gone long. Besides, I'm not going to live in fear until this person is caught," said Lauren.

_If they are caught, _Michael found himself thinking against his will.

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Sheila sat on the hospital bed. "Are you sure you don't remember what happened?" asked the nurse again.

"No, I don't," said Sheila. This was actually true.

"Okay. If something jogs you're memory, please tell me or another nurse or doctor," said the nurse.

_As if, _thought Sheila. Why would she tell them anything?

Suddenly, something caught Sheila's attention. A nurse was staring at her, a sort of vague recognition in her face. It was the same nurse that Sheila had once worked with, the person who could ruin all of her plans she had worked so hard to put into action.

"Excuse me, may I please have my purse? I need to check that everything is still there," said Sheila. It was a rather rude thing to say, but whatever. This nurse would have to be kept silent. She passed Sheila her purse. Sheila looked through it. The paramedics had probably looked through it to find some sort of identification, but the contents of the purse were not obviously lethal to most people. Sheila withdrew what looked like a pack of gum or such, but was actually a container of a deadly poison, the same one she had used to kill Tom.

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"Eek!" screamed a doctor as a nurse collapsed before her eyes. She rushed to check her heartbeat but she was already dead. "Somebody help!" she cried out.

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"I'm sorry, but you cannot come in," said a security guard outside the hospital.

"What? But my friend's in there!" exclaimed Scott.

"Why can't we go in there?" asked Lauren.

"I'm afraid its confidential information. I can't tell you," said the guard.

"Firstly, I know what confidential means. Secondly, why the hell can't I go in?" asked Scott. Lauren had never seen him so angry.

"Scott, watch your language," said Lauren. "Can't you just let us in for a second, we need to see someone," she said to the guard.

"Sorry, no can do," said a bored sounding guard.

"Please! I need to see if my friend is okay! She could be dead and I wouldn't know it!" exclaimed Scott.

"Was your friend a nurse working here?" asked the guard, sounding curious.

"No, why?" replied Scott. Technically Brenda had once been a nurse here, but that was ages ago and Scott doubted that was what the guard meant.

"Than she's not dead! Now go home," said the guard, as though this solved everything.

"Wait. Are you saying a nurse died?" asked Lauren.

"Maybe, maybe not. Its confidential, so go away," said the guard.

"We need to know this!" said Scott. Ignoring him and Lauren, the guard took out a thermos of soup and began to eat, deliberately making loud slurping noises.

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"No one will be allowed to leave the hospital until you are all interviewed as to what you may have seen or heard. A nurse has died and foul play is suspected. You are all suspects until crime scene investigators come to a conclusion," said an official looking woman. Sheila rolled her eyes. She already knew what the crime scene investigators would find. And it wasn't her they would take into custody.

When Sheila was interviewed, she played up the part of an innocent bystander, while all the while hinting that the person a few beds down _may _have had something to do with it. Sure enough, after a short while the person a few beds down was taken into custody because of a packet of deadly poison found on their nightstand.

Sheila has been careful not to leave fingerprints, and had worn thick rubber gloves (the thin ones leave prints) when handling the poison packet. The gloves were still there in her purse, rolled up and hidden in what appeared to be a packet of dental floss.

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Kevin was lying on the floor shaking. He was pale and obviously terrified. "Help me… help me… help…" he murmured as he plunged into the inky blackness of a troubled sleep.

Hope you enjoyed chapter 2! Thank you for reading! Did you like when Sheila smashed the mirror? I found that scene cool. Chapter 3 is coming soon. It's amazing how fast my disturbed mind spews out these things…


	3. Monsters

The Darkness Within Her Eyes

Chapter 3

Yay, this fic got a review finally! Thanks Rakal!

This fic is pretty fast to write, being mostly dialogue. Chapter 4 will probably be coming soon… if anyone cares…

On the bright side, my story My Fault has nine reviews at the moment.

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After the security guard had refused to let him in, Scott had gone disappointedly back to his hotel room. He had to know if Brenda was okay. He picked up the phone and rapidly punched in numbers and waited impatiently for the phone to be picked up.

"Hello, how may I help you?" said a polite receptionist on the other end of the phone.

"Yeah, is Brenda Harris available? She's a patient," said Scott.

"Yes, Miss Harris is available. I'll put her on the line."

"Thanks." Scott was relieved that Brenda was all right. She had been an excellent friend to him for many years, and he couldn't face losing her now.

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Kevin had to get out of his apartment. He had to be anywhere but here. The walls were about to crush him, the air was stifling him, and he was all alone. His fear had been replaced with an overwhelming desire for escape, for release from this place that was consuming his entire being. He had to get out of here. Looking to make sure nobody was around, Kevin dashed down the hallway and took the elevator down. Kevin had bought a car recently, not a fancy one, just a used one. He got in the car and drove to Mr. Abbott's mansion.

Nobody was home. Kevin had a key to get in, and now was all alone in the empty mansion. "Hello?" he called. It echoed eerily through the mansion.

It dark inside the mansion. There were few windows, letting in small slivers of light. The shadows of the many pictures and sculptures formed eerie visages of otherworldly creatures. They almost seemed to be moving, lurking, ready to pounce on him. He could hear their strange, scraping growls that pierced through Kevin's very skin and deep into his heart.

"Stay away!" shouted Kevin to a particularly menacing creature. He could see the hungry look in its eyes that glowed evilly in the inky darkness. It didn't listen to Kevin's cry. It stood its ground, staying crouched in the shadows just a few feet away from Kevin. It looked like it would lunge at him.

Terrified, Kevin grabbed the nearest thing he could, a coat rack, and swung it like a sword at the beast.

There was a shatter and a splash as a fountain shattered. The water poured across the floor and some clay fell at Kevin's feet. Kevin's heart was beating fast and he could feel the adrenaline flowing through his veins.

Ashley Abbott came running into the room. "What-" she started, than stopped when she saw Kevin, standing in a pool of water and clay with a coat rack in his hands.

Kevin turned around slowly to face Ashley. But Kevin didn't see Ashley Abbott; he saw a confused flow of frightening images flash before his eyes, a monster, something shattering, something running towards him. Another monster was after him, trying to kill him. This was the one that was trying to kill him, this was his enemy.

Kevin rapidly jumped and swung the coat rack at Ashley. Caught off guard by this sudden movement, Ashley was sent flying into a wall, the coat rack pressing against her neck. "Stop! What are you doing?" screamed Ashley. Kevin couldn't hear her words, however, and pressed the coat rack harder against her.

Ashley no longer had the air to scream. She started to gag and choke. Her face was draining of colour. Kevin released the coat rack and she fell to the ground unconscious. He raised the weapon for the final lethal strike.

Gloria walked into the room and gasped, turning pale. "Kevin, what are you doing?" she exclaimed. Kevin, startled, dropped the weapon, which fell to the ground with a loud metallic clang.

What had happened? Kevin saw Ashley Abbot unconscious on the floor in front of him. There was a pool of water mixed with blood, and some clay shards that had left deep cuts on Ashley.

Gloria ran to Ashley to check her heartbeat. It was faint, but there. Without speaking to Kevin, Gloria picked up the phone and called an ambulance.

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"Scott, it's so great to finally be able to speak to you again!" said Sheila.

"Yeah, I was worried about you. What happened that put you in the hospital?" asked Scott.

Sheila told him the same thing she had told the doctors. They had filled her in on the details of her injury and Sheila had come up with an excuse. She had cut her arm on a mirror, they had told her. Sheila had said that she had been cleaning the mirror when she had slipped and fallen forward, cutting her arm in the process. It annoyed Sheila that she didn't know what had happened, but she had to get out of the hospital as soon as possible, so she gave an excuse so she could get cured and leave as soon as possible. There was no need to look for a reason for her injury, just a need to get better.

"How long are you going to be in the hospital?" asked Scott after Sheila had told him about cutting herself on the mirror.

"I lost quite a large quantity of blood, so I'll be here about another week," said Sheila grimly. She wanted to get out and work on the preparations for Lauren's death, but she had to stay here, uselessly waiting for her blood to replenish itself. Well, she could still fantasize about the murder. What fun.

"Can I come see you now?" asked Scott. Sheila could hear the concern in his voice. He was so caring. He was the one person in the world who Sheila genuinely cared about.

"Oh, you can come sometime soon, Scott. There's a lot of paperwork that the staff have to fill in about the murder here before visitors are allowed," said Sheila. That nurse was certainly an inconvenience, even after her death.

"By the way Brenda, who was murdered? I heard that it was a nurse," said Scott.

"Yeah, it was some nurse who worked here. A patient was arrested for poisoning her," said Sheila. Wait… where had Scott heard about that? If it had been on the news, the reporters might look into it and interview people! If she was interviewed… someone was certain to recognize Sheila and have her locked up again!

"A security guard told me," said Scott. Sheila almost breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn't been on the news; she was safe for the time being. She really wouldn't care about being locked up that much, but she had to kill Lauren first. And come to think of it, she wouldn't be able to see Scott again. That would be pretty hard.

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Ashley Abbott was rushed to Memorial Hospital in an ambulance. Gloria and Kevin were asked to come with police to tell what happened. They were silent during the whole drive. Gloria wouldn't even look at Kevin, too disgusted by what he had done. Kevin stared out the window, nervously fidgeting with his seat belt. Was he going to be arrested? Why couldn't he remember what he did to Ashley? All that he could remember was her falling to the ground, lying there in a pool of water that shone black in the shadowy lighting. She had hardly been breathing, and Kevin had been to startled by this sight to do anything.

Had he done this to her? Kevin had done all kinds of terrible things in the past, but that was so long ago. He didn't think that he was that kind of person anymore; he thought he was normal now. Apparently he wasn't. He didn't want to go to jail for attempted murder, it wasn't his fault what had happened. But he had still done it, and even if he escaped prison he wasn't sure if he could still live with himself, knowing that that part of him that he though was long gone was still inside of him. The part of him that would do such terrible things.

They arrived at the police station. Kevin wasn't sure how long the drive was, he had been to lost in thought. They were ushered into the building by two blue-uniformed officers.

"How did you end up in the room with Miss Abbott?" asked the man who was doing the interview. Kevin didn't know what to say. He was about to open his mouth to say this but Gloria spoke first.

"We heard a yell and ran into the room. We found Ashley there on the floor," said Gloria. Kevin couldn't believe it. Why would she lie for him? She was putting herself at risk, and he knew that she was angry with him. So why was Gloria standing up for Kevin?

"Why were you at the house in the first place?" asked the man. He was staring directly into Kevin's eyes with his own steely gray ones, as though he was trying to catch the slightest hint of a lie betrayed in Kevin's face.

"He was visiting me. Can't a person visit their family every once in a while?" said Gloria.

"Is this true?" asked the man. He was still staring directly at Kevin. _He must have read my file. I don't exactly have a clean reputation, _thought Kevin.

"Yes, its true," said Kevin, trying to sound like he really wasn't keeping anything secret.

Soon, Kevin and Gloria were free to go. They had to give their addresses and phone numbers in case they needed to be further interrogated. After they were a fair bit away from the police station, Kevin broke the awful silence that had set in between him and his mother.

"Why did you lie for me?" asked Kevin.

"I did what I had to in order to protect my son," said Gloria stiffly.

"Thanks," said Kevin.

"Don't thank me Kevin. I don't want to talk to a murderer," said Gloria. With those sharp words, she left Kevin standing there alone.

Snowflakes were falling from thick white clouds. The scene would have been beautiful at any other time, but now it just further reminded Kevin of his loneliness. All around him, couples walked past, while he stood there alone. Perhaps he would always be alone. And this was a fate that he deserved, for otherwise he would simply end up hurting everyone, as he always seemed to.

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Sheila heard the news that Ashley Abbott was checking into the hospital. People weren't supposed to be entering the hospital for the next few days, but as this was a serious injury, and probably also because the Abbotts were fabulously wealthy, the hospital made an exception and let her in. Money truly could buy anything, it seemed.

Sheila recalled that Ashley Abbott was a relative of Michael's, and Michael was Lauren's fiancé. And Sheila was bored, so why not stir up some trouble?

In the middle of the night, Sheila walked over to Ashley Abbott. The hospital had no security cameras, in order to preserve the privacy of the patients. Sheila silently thanked the stupid by-laws of Genoa City.

Sheila forced a pillow over Ashley's face. Ashley's breathing slowed, than stopped. Sheila silently walked back to her bed and went to sleep.


	4. Puddles

The Darkness Within Her Eyes

Chapter 4

Here it is, chapter 4. Sorry it took me so long to update, I had midterms and was trying to study. And I am very thankful that this fic got several reviews. Many thanks to habbohotty, lilrocky80, pianodiva88, and Rakal.

I was reading over the previous chapters of this fic today. The first chapter had so many mistakes it burned my eyes. It seemed pretty cliché as well ("he was in the palm of her had") Hopefully I have improved a bit since then.

And recently, when I have posted stuff, some words have been fused together. I assure you that I do proofread and that the fusing is the uploading thing, not me.

I don't have very much medical knowledge, all I know I learned from watching House M.D. If I made any mistakes in the little medical details feel free to flame me for that, but I won't care.

Random rambling: Why do they call it Memorial Hospital. Aren't memorials for dead people? Isn't the whole point of hospitals so you _don't _die?

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It was dark throughout Memorial Hospital. The only sound was the steady shwish of sleeping patients breathing. A few nurses, doctors, and security guards stood watch, but were not really paying much attention. They had all been shaken by the murder, but the criminal had been taken away and there were about a dozen people here, and the company made everyone feel fairly safe. After the murder, things had been pretty routine. The patients were all in stable condition. Genoa City wasn't very large, and as a result there were not many patients in the hospital. They could quickly tend to the few patients here if anybody needed anything.

In whispers, a nurse and a doctor discussed their families. "Arthur will be graduating this year," said one.

"Oh, that's nice. What are his plans for the future?"

"He might be-" a piercing noise abruptly stopped the pleasant chitchat. A single, steady, high pitch note rang through the air. Everyone froze, wide eyes mimicking deer in headlights. It was the alarm. It only sounded when there was a major emergency. Someone was dying.

A guard ran out of the security room, where he had been keeping watch over patient statistics. There were many monitors, such as heartbeat and breathing rate. "The new patient, not breathing!" exclaimed to guard, stammering. He was new here, and the recent murder had had the most impact on him. His face was pale with fear, irrational, that the killer might still be in the hospital. Everyone had reassured him against this, countless times, but now his fears were starting to weigh on everyone's minds.

But there was no time to think about such things. Everyone dashed out of their office spaces and into the critical care ward. Ashley had been kept there just to be safe. She was a very important person, and even though she had been in stable condition they had kept her in the critical care ward because there would definitely be a lawsuit if anything happened to her.

Ashley was lying on her side, her hair tangled and strewn across her face from being asleep so long. Her face was almost white and she was completely still. The machine next to her indicated that she was not breathing and did not have a pulse.

The shaken security guard went to call her family.

He was too lost in thought to hear what was going on behind him.

"Charge! Clear!" shouted a doctor as he attempted to resuscitate Ashley. He gave Ashley a jolt of electricity to try to get her heart to start beating again. The blast of energy caused her entire body to convulse. Her heart still did not respond to the stimulation. He tried again. "Charge! Clear!" This time her heart seemed to give a weak response, then stopped again. Meanwhile, another doctor put a clear plastic tube down the patient's throat to help her breath.

Once more, the doctors gave Ashley an electrical jolt.

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The phone rang several times. John Abbott walked as quickly as he could down the many stairs of his house to answer it. "Hello?" he asked, picking up the receiver and holding it to his ear.

"Mr. Abbott, I'm extremely sorry to tell you this, but…"

What the voice said next made John drop the phone.

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The doctors and nurses all breathed a sigh of relief. Nearby the monitor indicated a faint but steady heartbeat, and the sound of shallow breathing filled the night air. Ashley Abbott was alive. One doctor stayed to watch over her while the others went to reassure the other patients, who had been awoken by the loud alarm, that everything was all right.

"Hey Tim!" a doctor called, greeting her security guard friend.

"Hi Olivia," he replied somberly.

" What's wrong?" asked Olivia. They had just saved a patient, what was he so depressed about?

" I called the dead patient's father… he sounded devastated. Sometimes I hate this job," sighed Tim.

Olivia just stared at him, mouth hanging half open at a lack for words. A few seconds later she said, "Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't think you'll need to worry about this job anymore.'

"What do you mean?"

"The patient's alive."

Tim stood still and silent as the words sunk in. "Dammit…" he exhaled.

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Shiela sat in her bed, eyes shut, pretending to sleep. In reality she was far from unconscious. She couldn't believe she had done something so stupid. Of course Ashley would have a herd of doctors rushing to her aid in a minute. What had she been thinking?

Sheila was once again reminded of the power money and a famous name gave someone. Shiela was here, using an alias and keeping a low profile so as to not get arrested, while Ashley was using her vast fortune and family influence to get everything she needed or wanted. The phrase "not fair" came to mind.

Shiela scolded herself for thinking like that. Of course life wasn't fair, it never has been, never will be. She just needed to use the reasources at hand to get what she wanted. If someone can do that, then they can satisfy their every desire. She had to plan ahead carefully, not act on whims like this again. If someone acts stupidly and makes a mistake, they deserve to be punished. Sheila had tried to kill Ashley without planning, and now her lack of success was her punishment. If she made another mistake, she might be caught.

Sheila had to first kill Lauren Fenmore. She could not do anything that could jeopardize this goal that she had been planning towards for so many years. She had to control herself. This goal had consumed too many years of her life to forget now. She couldn't make them all in vain just so she could have a moment of entertainment.

What was happening to her lately? She was in the hospital and couldn't remember why. She had almost thrown all her hard work away in a few minutes. She had to control herself. She had to.

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John Abbott stared at the smashed telephone on the floor. He exhaled a string of profanities as he threw a vase at the wall. He looked down at the broken glass and plastic on the floor as tears ran down his face and his shoulders shook with sobs.

"John! What is it?" asked Gloria as she came in through the door, concern evident in her voice. She ran over to her husband, not even stopping to take off her heavy coat.

"She's dead," said John between sobs, then falling to his knees, his face covered by his hands.

Gloria instantly knew whom he was talking about. The color drained from her face as she realized what had happened. Her stepdaughter was dead. Her son had done this. Tears also began to fall from Gloria's face, landing on the hardwood floor where just a short time ago Ashley's own blood had fallen.

Gloria and Ashley had often not got along, but that didn't mean that Gloria did not feel awful about losing her. They had almost begun to see eye to eye recently. If she was still alive, maybe they could have become friends. Maybe they could all have been a family.

Why had Kevin done this? Gloria had thought that he was better. He obviously wasn't. He may never be. Gloria knew that he couldn't control himself sometimes, that he couldn't tell what was real. But he had seemed so different lately. He had been so caring, such a nice person. Was he just pretending all this time? Did his words not really mean anything, were they only an act?

Gloria mourned the loss of a stepdaughter and of her own son. Everything was falling apart.

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Gloria and John sat in silence as they drove to Memorial Hospital. Gloria had thought that it was too early to go, that John wouldn't be able to stand the shock of seeing Ashley dead. But John had insisted, so Gloria had reluctantly agreed. She had driven; she didn't think that John would be able to concentrate on the roads.

Not that she could either. The recent events had taken their toll on both of them. Gloria could hardly stand it. She didn't know if she should tell John that Kevin had done this or if she should just forget it. She knew that either way she would never be able to live with herself. If she told John it might bring him some closure, but would end her son in jail. She was either betraying her husband or her son. If only she knew why Kevin had done this.

Gloria had been turning her choices over and over in her head. She knew that either way she had no easy choice. No decision could end in a positive outcome, no matter how hard she tried. There was nothing she could say to make this awful situation better for anyone. She had thought through her options several times and knew that she would think of them many more times before she was through.

A vivid image kept appearing in Gloria's mind. But it was not the image of Ashley lying on the floor. It was a vision of all of them, her and John, Ashley, Kevin, Jack, and Michael. All talking happily together, all having a good time. She had always dreamed of a day when that could happen, when they could all get along like a real family. Now that day would never come. And she saw Ashley and Kevin disappear from that picture and felt lonelier then ever before. She pined so much for that day which would never come.

How could everything change so much in such a short time? Now there was no way to restore what they used to have, to move on.

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"Still no answer!" moaned the security guard.

"I can't believe you said she was dead! We have to first pronounce them dead before you can call and tell people that!" groaned Olivia, a hand on her forehead.

"She had no heartbeat, how can she not be dead?" asked Tim. He didn't know whether to be relieved or not. No one had been murdered, which was definitely a good thing. He was also about to lose his job, which was definitely not a good thing.

" That's why you're not a doctor, Tim," said Olivia, a hint of anger rising in her voice. "This will be all over the news for sure."

Sheila, meanwhile, had been listening to the entire conversation. If this was on the news she would definitely be recognize. It would be the most pathetic type of irony if she was caught now because of hospital blunder, after all that careful planning. And Lauren was sure to be watching the news that day, as the Abbotts were her fiancé's family. Sheila had to get out of this place as soon as possible.

"Excuse me, when am I going to be released?" Sheila asked, stopping a passing nurse.

"You're the massive blood loss patient?" the nurse asked. Sheila nodded. The nurse flipped through a small notebook. "In three days, if your condition stays stable," said the nurse, walking away.

Three days was not soon enough. Sheila knew she had to escape.


	5. Escaping

The Darkness Within Her Eyes

Chapter Five

Escaping

Thanks to everyone who reviewed this story! Especially you, Habbohotty, who reviewed several chapters! Additional thanks to: Pianodiva88, Rakal, and lilrocky80. Reviews from old or new readers are always appreciated. If you R+R I'll return the favor. There are five chapters, so if you review each one I'll also review you five times. Unless you don't have that many stories or chapters, then I kind of can't.

I would just like to point out that I have nothing against hospitals, nurses, doctors, or security guards. Just the ones in Memorial Hospital, because they let Cassie die.

I don't know much about cars either. I just name ones that sound cool.

I am planning to eventually make this a CSI type fic. Tell me if you want it to be a crossover with CSI or if you want me to add my own original characters as Crime Scene Investigators. If you want this to be a crossover, tell me if you have any requests for pairings. I like writing both slash and het pairings, as long as there isn't like, a 70-year age difference. And no, I am not going to put in any lemons.

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"Hi Brenda, are you feeling better?" asked Scott. His voice sounded mechanical through the telephone receiver, and static partially obscured his voice, but it was Scott's voice all the same. Sheila felt oddly reassured by this.

She had awoken to the sound of the telephone ringing. She was a light sleeper and the sound had immediately snapped her into complete consciousness. Sheila had been irritated by this annoyance awakening her, but when she heard Scott's voice she had relaxed. Scott was the only person she could trust. He was the only one who was helping her because he cared. He wasn't like the others who assisted her because of money or to save their own insignificant lives. Scott was perhaps the only person who wouldn't betray her if given the chance. He was the only good person left in the world, Sheila thought wistfully.

"I'm feeling much better Scott, thanks for calling," said Sheila. It was all completely true. She felt fine, not even tired. And she was very grateful to Scott for calling, life in the hospital was incredibly boring. Sheila had to get out of here and escape this monotonous existence. She didn't know why they bothered keeping her in this damned hospital.

Then it occurred to her. They hadn't believed her excuse about her arm. They were probably keeping her on suicide watch without her knowledge. This whole thing was a masquerade, this waiting another few days for her blood to replenish. She was probably fine right now. That explained why they had asked her so many odd questions, why the nurses and doctors wouldn't leave her alone. Sheila had to escape. This place would soon be all over the news over the recent screw-up, and Sheila couldn't risk being recognized. A chill went down her spine as she realized how quickly this could all be over.

"'When will you be getting out of the hospital, Brenda?" asked Scott.

"Oh, very soon Scott. The doctors say a few days."

"Well, that's great! See ya soon."

"See you again soon."

Click.

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The car pulled up to Memorial Hospital's parking lot, making crunching noises as some gravel and mucky snow was crushed into the tires. Gloria cut the gas and braked, making a rather sloppy job of parking the car. The blue Pontiac was only half within the painted, faded yellow parking lot boundaries. Gloria and John Abbott were allowed to use the handicap parking areas, because after John had fallen down the stairs he usually required the use of a cane.

Gloria found it all so hard to understand. At that time, Kevin had saved John. For a while it seemed liked they could escape from the terrible past that Tom Fisher had inflicted upon their broken family. That maybe they could live a new life as family with the Abbotts. Well, Kevin had certainly snapped them all out of _that_ delusion. But Gloria wished she could go back to those days, of dreams and naivety.

John pushed his door open almost before the car had stopped moving. He stepped out, without his cane, which had been forgotten in haste. He put his weight awkwardly on one foot, leaning dangerously to one side, then stumbled onto the other foot. He repeated this process several times, moving faster with each lumbering step. Gloria followed, sprinting awkwardly in her impractical shoes after the amazingly fast limping man.

They burst through the double glass doors into the hospital lobby. John was purposely striding/limping towards the receptionist, a bespectacled woman with red hair, probably in her thirties or forties. John opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, he was interrupted by an official looking man.

"Mister and Misses Abbott, I'm the head of this hospital. I'm afraid that someone has made a mistake regarding your daughter. Tim here will explain it all to you," he said, emphasizing and drawing out the words "someone" and "Tim." It was painfully obvious to both Gloria and John that Tim was the one who had made the mistake from this, and also from the fact that as an awkward looking security guard bearing the name tag "Tim" stepped forward, the man glared distastefully at him.

"What the hell are you talking about? What mistake?" asked John, quick to become angry as he was still on an emotional high due to confusion and grief. Not that he didn't have a right to be angry, confused, and grieving.

"Um… your daughter didn't die. While, actually she did, but now she's alive," said Tim. He was fidgeting anxiously with the side of his jacket as he talked, knowing he was probably about to lose his job.

"What?" asked John. His anger was very evident in his voice now. This man was making no sense. John wished with all his heart that his daughter was still alive, but she couldn't be. Not after that phone call. Wait a minute… this Tim man's voice… yes, John could swear he had heard it before. This might just be the man who had made the phone call! This idiot did seem like the type of person who would get his facts wrong. For a second John felt a flicker of hope.

Then he crushed that hope, extinguishing the metaphorical light it had began to cast upon his dark feelings of despair. He couldn't start to think that Ashley might still be alive. It was hopeless, and John's common sense told him that Ashley was gone. He couldn't start ignoring that common sense and living in a fantasy world. He was a man of reason and action, not of daydreams and delusions.

"Umm… Mister Abbott, sir?" asked Tim, who was now waving a hand in front of John's face.

"Yes, what is it?" asked John, very clearly annoyed. He did not at all enjoy having to converse with this fool. What kind of insult to his intelligence was this nonsense Tim was babbling about?

"She was dead, but now she's not."

Was this some kind of twisted prank? "Well that's ridiculous, someone can't be both dead and alive!"

"Technically they can be. Oh, wait, yeah you're right. She's not both dead and alive. Well, she was for a moment. I think, I don't really understand medical terms…"

"That's for sure," muttered Gloria under her breath, rolling her eyes. She thought that where this conversation must be going was that Ashley was alive. That relieved her; it would be miraculous to have her stepdaughter back again. Gloria promised herself that if Ashley were okay, the two of them would never fight about self-centered disagreements again. Then Gloria decided to forget about that promise, she knew she could never keep it. Their personalities clashed too much for them to always get along, and everyone fights sometimes. But it would be a different kind of fighting, because Gloria would know that it was by a miracle that Ashley was there at all.

Gloria abruptly ended that train of thought. It was bound to only lead to further disappointments. She had to keep her thoughts cynical at a time like this, when false hope could be a dangerous thing. Ashley had not yet been confirmed alive, well, actually she had been, but by this fool who had also confirmed her dead, sometimes even in the same breath. Maybe he didn't know the meaning of the words. Was he just starting to learn English? He didn't speak with an accent though, but sometimes it was hard to tell. But he seemed to speak really fluently, and Gloria couldn't imagine how someone could learn English without learning the meanings of the words life and death. They came up too often in conversation, especially in here Genoa City.

Gloria chided herself for thinking about accents at a time like this. She had to find out what had happened to Ashley.

"She was legally dead. Or medically dead. I forget which one it was, I'm not a doctor…"

_I can tell, _thought John.

"Now she's alive again," said Tim.

"YOU MAKE NO SENSE!" burst out John, his anger getting the best of him.

Sometimes events speak louder than words. This is especially true when those words make no sense. At that exact moment, Ashley Abbott walked out past the wooden door of the Critical Care Ward into the lobby. Everyone, John and Gloria and even Tim, gasped in stunned disbelief.

It was an odd feeling. Tim had known all along that Ashley was alive, that was what the doctors had said, after all. But after talking to people who thought that she was dead, he had begun to doubt his own words even as he said them. Now, Ashley Abbott was standing right there, and Tim knew that he didn't have to explain any more to get the point across to the Abbotts.

"Dad? Gloria? It's nice to see you… but why am I here?" said Ashley, her face taking on a bemused expression as she said the last part. She looked like an angel, or a ghost, in her white hospital gown and the fluorescent lighting of the hospital. John was amazed to see her standing there. He didn't really know why he felt so amazed, he had had a difficult time believing she was dead; he had never really accepted the idea. Now she was alive, and John was surprised how hard this was to believe. His daughter was standing right in front of him, apparently perfectly unharmed.

John felt himself overcome with emotion as he reached out and hugged Ashley. Tears stung his eyes, but they were not of sorrow as they had been before. Now, John was just so amazed by the miracle of Ashley Abbott, his daughter, standing here before his own eyes, that he found himself unable to keep all his emotions inside.

During this emotional moment, nobody took the time to look towards the nearest hospital exit. If they had, they would have noticed a person with cherry wood red hair, clothed in a white hospital gown. This person would have seemed to be walking cautiously, even stealthily, crouched in the shadows. She would be moving almost silently, never once making a sound louder than that of a light wind blowing through a few stray leaves, like the ones that stubbornly refused to fall of the trees in late fall. She gently opened the door and let herself out of the building. There was a click as the door slid back into place, and a slight wind entered the hospital, leaving everyone slightly chilled. But no one took any notice of these things.

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"Hello, you've reached Lauren Fenmorre and Michael Baldwin, soon to be married, wooo! Please leave a message and number and we'll call you back as soon as we can!" Beep.

"Hi Mom, this is Scott. My writing partner, Brenda Harris, has gone missing. From the hospital, you know, where she was staying. It's a long story, can you please call me back. I really need to talk to you."

Beep.

…

…

…

**END PART ONE**


	6. Trees

The Darkness Within Her Eyes

Chapter Six

Trees

Okay, weird chapter name, I know.

I would like to thank Rakal, Pianodiva88, and lilrocky80. I would especially like to thank Habbohotty.

This chapter is where the CSI crossover comes in. It's still going to be a Young and Restless fic, though. If you don't watch CSI, don't worry I introduce the characters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Young and Restless or CSI, but I am a big fan of both series. This is an AU (alternate universe) fanfic, so please don't flame me for getting my facts wrong. I watch both shows, but this is an alternate storyline. Oh, and not that much happens in this chapter because I'm trying to give some insight into the characters before the real excitement of the plot starts.

I do, however own some original characters. I own... (Drum-roll)... Tim and Drooling Guy! Yes, I am so impressive. I'll introduce some more interesting original characters later. All I can tell you about them at the moment are that their names are Dyllon and Maia.

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"She just disappeared without a trace?" asked Lauren Fenmore for what seemed to be the umpteenth time.

"Yeah," said Scott, snapping his fingers for emphasis. "You know, I don't understand it. She said she would be getting out of the hospital in a few days, then" snap" she's gone." It was obvious that Scott was distraught; his hair was uncombed and his apartment was a mess, clothing scattered around the floor and dishes not put away. The sight made Lauren, who liked things orderly, want to scream. But she was more worried about her son than about his apartment. His eyes were bloodshot as though he had not slept in days. She really wanted to help him, but she knew there wasn't much she could do besides comfort him.

Where was Brenda Harris? Scott had phoned the hospital, and they had reassured him that they had filed a missing person report and that the police had been notified, She wasn't in danger from her injuries and had recovered enough that it would probably be safe for her to live on her own, they claimed. Scott had asked why she was supposed to stay there another few days anyway. They had said that it was "confidential information." Scott was beginning to loath those words.

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"Well?" asked Ashley, with a somewhat confused smile.

John sighed, realizing he would have to explain what he himself had a hard time understanding. "Ashley, we found you – unconscious, at my house. Can you remember any of what happened?" asked John. He was trying to make his voice sound strong but it was obvious he was worried. Who would have done this to his daughter? She didn't have any enemies that he knew of, and he knew she would have told him if she did. Now that the infamous, sleazy Tom Fisher was gone, who did they know that would, or could, have done this?

Ashley appeared to think deeply about this. After a few moments she replied "No." Her lack of memory of the event seemed to annoy her, and her frustration showed in her expression. But Gloria was secretly relived that she wouldn't be able to get Kevin in trouble.

A few moments later a doctor appeared. She told them that Ashley would have to go back to bed, as she needed sleep to recover from massive blood loss and a mild concussion.

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Life as a crime scene investigator was rarely boring. This was one of those rare times when it is, mused Sara Sidle. She sighed, looking out the window to her left, past the snoring man in the chair next to her. She didn't see anything through the window, but for a few smudged fingerprints and a pure white mist. They were probably flying through a cloud. She always used to think that it would be amazing to be inside a cloud, but now she realized that the experience was highly overrated; there wasn't much to see. You could get the same effect, and without the airsickness, by staring at a blank sheet of paper for an hour.

Sara had been flying several times before, and she never failed to feel sick. The flight would be over soon, it had already been two of the three hours needed to fly to Genoa City. The annual conference where the newest developments in forensics were discussed was going to be held there this year, as well as an award ceremony for scientists, crime scene investigators, or whoever else had made an important achievement in the forensic world. Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom, as well as Catherine Willows, had been invited to represent the Las Vegas Crime Laboratory. Sara was sure that she wouldn't win anything; she hadn't made any major achievements, or at least not any they would find worthy of an award. Grissom might win something; he wa_s _brilliant after all.

She supposed she should be grateful for this honor and not take it for granted, but right now she would gladly have given it up to be back on the ground. It was fairly late, and she wished she could fall asleep and this would all be over by the time she woke up. She knew that wouldn't happen though, so she had long since given up trying. The man beside her was snoring so loudly she could hardly hear her own thoughts past the rhythmic inhaling and exhaling, as well as an occasional disgusting snort. He was also drooling in his sleep, and it was not a pleasant sight. The airsickness combined with the sight of the drooling man was making Sara feel very sick to her stomach, and if she shut her eyes she knew she would keep visualizing the drooling, and also that the feeling of vertigo would overwhelm her.

It was so strange, she thought, that as a crime scene investigator she had lost almost all of her uneasiness and fear around blood and gore. Such disturbing sights did not often bother her, except in extreme cases. Yet the sight of saliva greatly discomforted her. She knew it didn't make a lot of sense, and she often wondered herself why it made her so uncomfortable. She never came to a very satisfying conclusion, other than the fact that it was gross. The drool that was falling to the armrest in a steady stream was one of the many things that were making Sara nervous at the moment.

She also couldn't help feeling anxious about the CSIs who were still in Las Vegas. Greg, Nick, Warrick, and everybody else had had to stay behind to take care of anything that might come up. She knew this was irrational to worry about them; they were more than capable of taking care of themselves. And it wasn't not like there were any major cases. Lately there had only been a scattering of cases of vandalism, trespassing, and the like, nothing that would take the entire graveyard shift team to solve.

Perhaps this drop in crime was also making her nervous. It was odd, she would have thought prior to this that she would be grateful for the lack of dying (at least of unnatural causes) in Vegas, but she was shocked to find that she wasn't. She knew it made her sound like a horrible sadist to think such things, but she didn't mean that she wasn't glad that less lives were being taken. It just felt like things were building up and soon the dam would break and something bad would happen. Sure, it sounded weird; it wasn't like all the criminals in Vegas were planning something together. But the tension was bothering her and she was surprised to find herself, against her will, hoping for a case to arise and something to happen.

Sara shifted in her seat to look behind her, as well as to have an excuse to move away from drooling guy. A row behind her sat Gil Grissom, who was gazing with a look of intense concentration on his face at a large leather-bound book. The words "Encyclopedia of Cephalopods" were stitched on the cover and spine in large and highly stylized gold letters. Sara waved and mouthed the word "hi" to Grissom. He didn't seem to notice. He must have been very absorbed in his book, though Sara wasn't sure how someone could be so intensely interested in a book that seemed to be several thousand pages about the history of squid. Besides, wasn't Grissom interested in insects, not squid?

Catherine Willows was sitting beside Grissom, and she waved back to Sara. Catherine's hair looked to have been recently styled, and she was dressed in a mid-length black skirt, a white blouse, and a purple jacket. Sara was feeling a bit self-conscious as she herself was dressed very casually, her short black hair tied back into a ponytail, wearing black slacks and a tight blue shirt. She hadn't realized the occasion would be so formal, or that they wouldn't have time to change after getting off the plane. Even Grissom was wearing a tuxedo. It hadn't said on the invitation that they were supposed to dress up, but Sara now saw that she was supposed to infer that. Everyone else had, at least. Hopefully she wasn't going to have to make a speech or anything. Or maybe she did and just hadn't realized that either, thought Sara somewhat sarcastically.

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"Michael?" whispered Gloria.

"Speaking. Why are you whispering?" asked Michael, his voice equal parts annoyance and suspicion. He had been driving home from work, after spending an incredibly boring day filling out paperwork, when his cell phone had rang. He had to pull over to answer it, as it was in the glove compartment opposite him and he was in an intersection with heavy traffic. He had been forced to make a major detour, which would mean it would take another half hour to drive home. Suffice to say, he was extremely annoyed.

"It's about… Ashley." Michael wasn't sure if she was pausing for dramatic purposes or just because she was hesitant to tell him this. Either way, he had no patience for this right now.

"And?" he urged, wondering if this conversation was going anywhere.

"Someone… tried to kill her."

Michael immediately lost all his cynicism to surprise, and all he could think of to say was "What?"

"She's in the hospital because… someone… attempted to murder her."

"Oh my god. Do you want me to call Paul to investigate?" asked Michael.

There was a long pause on the other end, and Michael had to check to make sure his phone hadn't gone dead. "No," Gloria answered finally.

"What?" exclaimed Michael, his voice not so much skeptical as it was confused.

"Well, I just think that John would be nervous if we make this into too big a deal, and you know, it could have been an accident, or maybe she just fell, and authorities haven't really said for sure that it was attempted murder, maybe it was an accident…" Gloria continued to ramble on, in that overly casual tone of hers she always used when something was wrong. Michael knew she was hiding something, she was a horrible liar. And it didn't help that she was repeating and contradicting himself.

"Just get to the point, all right. If you didn't want me to know about this, why did you call me?" asked Michael. The cynicism and annoyance had once again become obvious in his tone.

"Can you… keep Paul from investigating? You know, use your lawyer abilities?" pleaded Gloria.

_"Lawyer abilities?" _thought Michael, going over the words with his mind. She might as well have asked him to use his magical elf abilities, what the hell was he supposed to do to stop an investigation? And why _was _he supposed to stop an investigation, anyway?

"Alright, what happened and why are you dragging me into it?" asked Michael.

" Oops, got to go. Footsteps are coming." With those final words, Gloria hung up.

Michael stared at the phone in his hand in disgust. Now not only was he annoyed, but worse. He was _interested. _He knew that it would be stupid to get involved with the bizarre problems Gloria somehow always managed to find herself confronted with, but something within him was telling him he had to know. And Michael was fairly sure that his curiosity would get the better of his common sense.


	7. Let's be Alone Together

The Darkness Within her Eyes

Chapter 7

Let's be Alone Together

**Angsty romance! Yay! **

**This chapter is dedicated to Habbohotty**. I'm sorry the last chapter was boring, but I did point out in the description that it was a slow chapter. I'll try to incorporate requests into the upcoming story, but this is **alternate universe** fanfiction. It **isn't supposed to be** **exactly like the show**. It will still be a **crossover** with CSI, but focusing mainly on **the Y and R** characters. I'll try to include the **Mac**/J.T./**Kevin**/Victoria love dodecahedron, but it's going to be hard to focus on characters that have hardly been mentioned yet. I did include **MacKevin** in this chapter, though. I've been a KevinMac fan for as long as I've been watching the show, so probably over a year. The **situation is a little different** than in the show, however. **You'll see.**

**Sorry if Mac seems out of character, but she's feeling depressed in this chapter.**

**The Leonard Cohen song "Waiting For The Miracle"** inspired this chapter. It just seemed to fit in with the theme. That song is where this chapter name comes from, by the way. I can't include a copy of the lyrics because it isn't allowed, but you can look them up if you feel like it.

**In this fic, Mac hasn't lost the baby, or at least not yet. **

…

…

Kevin stood on his balcony, staring out at the urban jungle before him. A lawn chair sat despondently beside him, forgotten or ignored. He had been standing right here for what seemed like one endless moment, stretched out into eternity. He was starting to feel like life was one endless moment, constantly repeating itself. It seemed as likely as any other philosophical or scientific theory on the matter. "And tomorrow becomes today, and today becomes yesterday, and then you're life's decided," mumbled Kevin. It sounded strangely deep for him, but he had to somehow distract himself from the awful truth of what he'd just done. He found philosophy.

He knew he wasn't very good at it, but he hoped that it would eventually make things more clear to him. He hadn't been able to find anything to help him feel better though, and he felt like things were getting more and more foggy. "There is no difference between good and evil. Everything people do is perfect."

"Yeah right, if that was true I wouldn't feel like crap," Kevin answered himself bitterly. He had felt that he had somehow recovered his grasp on reality, but what scared him was that he didn't remember losing it. He was trapped, trapped eternally in an endless cycle. All he could do now was wait for his history to repeat itself, for him to hurt people again.

He knew it was only a matter of time before he lost his grip again. He might as well be alone when it happened. He made a silent promise to himself to be alone next time, not to endanger anyone but himself.

All his life, he had been waiting for things to change. He had been hoping that he could be a different person, that he could "get better," so to speak. But maybe bad karma was just a part of him that could never really go away. Oh well, it didn't really matter. He could just avoid the outside world from now on. A world that had no sympathy to spare on Kevin Fisher. He'd been waiting for a miracle that was never going to happen, at least not in this lifetime. He might as well spend his life by himself - or at least the part of his life that he still had the ability to control. But maybe he really couldn't control any of it. The world would not forgive him, and bad luck would not leave him.

He hated the dark realms of his mind. Where he heard so many screams, shrieks he had been almost able to block out until now. But they were still there. And he had to admit, those screams were a part of him. He didn't know if he could live without them. Without them, he wouldn't be Kevin Fisher. But maybe it would be better if he weren't.

He'd wait alone now for change. There was nothing else he could do to change himself or the world he was now going to isolate himself from. He felt a strange type of happiness brought upon by these thoughts. It wasn't his fault, nothing he could control. Just his nature.

He smiled grimly, remembering a fable. How a scorpion had killed a toad while the toad was carrying it across a stream. "Now we will both die," said the toad. "We will drown."

"I can't help it. It's my nature," said the scorpion, sinking beneath the water, Aesop sure had a way of explaining life. Kevin had effectively destroyed any chances he might have had before. He was sinking now, drowning in his solitude and sorrow.

"Stop wallowing in misery," he told himself, his voice more confident than he really felt. But he saw through his own façade, he had no confidence to spare. Just time.

The silhouette of a person appeared beside Kevin on the balcony. A tall girl, with fairly short hair. "Mackenzie?" asked Kevin, surprise evident in his voice, squinting in the dim light to see if it was really she. It was late at night, the only illumination being the neon glare from down below, casting a multihued but eerie glow upon the scene.

"Yeah. You gave me your key, said I can come here whenever I wanted. Or were you just saying that?" asked Mac, an obvious note of bitterness in her voice, which further surprised Kevin. Mac was always so optimistic and kind, full of warmth that she shared with everyone she met. What had happened to change her so much? Who had done this to her? Kevin felt a wave of anger towards whoever had done this to Mackenzie. No one was allowed to hurt her.

"No, of course you're welcome here. I'm just a little surprised, that's all," said Kevin.

"I hate surprises," said Mac, still sounding resentful. She pulled a lighter from her pocket, lighting a cigarette. She stuck it in her mouth, holding it to her lips with her index and middle finger on her right hand. She exhaled in a dark stream.

"You smoke?" asked Kevin. He was shocked and fought hard to keep it out of his voice. He hoped he succeeded. How could Mac smoke? She was always such a good kid, never breaking the rules.

"Do now."

The blunt reply stung at Kevin's heart. He couldn't bear to watch a person he cared so much about in so much pain. What could have changed her so much? He didn't want to lose her… couldn't stand to lose her. The person he loved.

Kevin was at first taken aback by this thought, then realized that it wasn't that out of the blue. He had felt this way for so long, he just had never fully admitted it. He had desired her, had needed her, but he never fully realized he loved her.

"J.T. dumped me," said Mac suddenly.

"What? When? Why?" asked Kevin, the questions falling off his tongue. He was painfully aware of how lame his inquiries sounded, but he had been unable to contain them. How could J.T. give up such a great girl? He really had no clue about what mattered in life.

"This morning. He called me, said he found someone else. Tried to let me down easy I guess, but it still hurt. He couldn't even say it to my face." Mac had to look away from Kevin as she said this, as though she was ashamed.

"J.T.," said Kevin, "is an idiot."

The wind blew a puff of smoke into Kevin's face, and he held his breath so as not to cough. The smoke smelt awful and wonderful at the same time. The puff shone oddly in the colorfully dyed lights of the city from down below them, before floating away in a grey mist.

"I know," said Mac, still looking away. Then she raised her head to meet Kevin's eyes. Her gaze was steady but her eyes were red, as though she had been crying earlier today. Perhaps she had run out of tears. "That's not the worst part of it."

Kevin urged her to continue by nodding and pleading her with his eyes.

"I'm pregnant."

The abruptness of that statement, the shock of seeing Mac like this, his anger and hatred towards J.T., the flashing lights, and the sickly smoke of the cigarette mingling with the night air; these factors all combined to make Kevin feel sick. He hated J.T. as much as he had hated his father, probably more. Tom had hurt Kevin, but J.T. had done something much worse. He had hurt Mac, the person in the world least deserving of suffering. Someone wanted to kill Kevin, but the thought of harm befalling Mac was much more difficult for Kevin to cope with. He was already dead inside, but Mac had her whole life to live.

"J.T.'s?" asked Kevin. Mac nodded, confirming the obvious. He reached towards Mac and put an arm around her. He was surprised when she didn't resist at all. He ran his fingers through her hair. It was kind of tangled, like she hadn't brushed it today. Mac turned towards him and looked deeply into his eyes, as though scanning his soul. Kevin felt chills of excitement at being so close to Mac, and a shiver went down his spine as he thought about how this was the same Mackenzie who had helped him when he was so weak.

Perhaps he was still weak. He hadn't done like he'd promised her so long ago. He hadn't gotten better; he was still the sick, flawed Kevin Fisher. But he'd try to change, for her. To be the knight in shining armor, because somebody had to save her.

Kevin brushed a strand of hair out of her face and removed the cigarette from her mouth. He extinguished the orange, glowing end between two fingers. It left a tingling, burning sensation behind after dying away, orange fading to grey. A final whisp if smoke flew up into the sky. "Smoking is bad for the kid," he said gently.

Mac hid her head in Kevin's shoulder, and he felt a few tears slip through the thin white fabric and fall against his skin, feeling cold. Brave Mac, she wouldn't let anyone see her cry. She always thought that she had to be strong. Well, she didn't. No one could be strong all the time.

"Hey, emotions are okay," said Kevin, quoting one of Mackenzie's own personal proverbs. A proverb that had meant so much to Kevin.

"Emotions are awful," came the muffled reply.

"Maybe so, but they're what make us human." Mac lifted her face from his shoulder and nodded, too choked up to speak.

Before Kevin knew what he was saying, the words came out of his mouth. "Mackenzie, will you marry me?"

"Yes," was the unexpected reply.

No flowers.

No ring,

No party.

Just ashes, lights, smoke, and tears. But Kevin had never been happier. Deep within him, a distant scream erupted, like an earthquake splitting apart his mind.

_Why did you have to ruin this moment? _Kevin asked the voice.

_Because I can, _came the simplistic reply, and Kevin was sure he could hear cruel laughter.

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"I'm sorry Kevin, I'm so sorry." Over and over, Gloria mumbled those words to the walls of the Abbott mansion. Michael had asked her about what was going on, and before she knew it, she had told him everything. She hoped that he wouldn't betray his brother. It could land Kevin in jail and break apart her marriage with John. But who knew what Michael would do. He had a sense of ethics that he acted like was above everyone else's. And Gloria had no way of knowing what he would or wouldn't do. After she had told him everything, Michael had left without saying a word, a look of disgust on his face.

"I'm sorry Kevin…"


	8. Storms and Warnings

The Darkness Within her Eyes

Chapter 8

Storms and Warnings

Sorry it took so long for an update. I was working on a school website and had to write 3000 words about the nervous system for it. I also had to practice for badminton tryouts, but I didn't make the team. And I accidentally stapled my hand. All in all, a terrible week. Now that I feel really depressed and once again have no life, expect an update marathon.

I had no idea what apartment Kevin lived in. He isn't even living in an apartment right now in the show, but I'm pretty sure he was when I started writing this story.

**Thanks reviewers. **

…

…

A figure clad in dark, professional clothes quickly ascended the stairs, anger and adrenaline fueling his footsteps. His eyes glittered with rage in the dim lighting of the apartment complex. The stairway was a long and tedious to travel, but that was not what made this man so furious. In fact, he didn't only feel furious; he also felt betrayed…

His tie was pushed to one side and fluttered to keep up with his rapid pace. With his neatly styled hair, Armani suit, and fancy tie, he looked like he would be more at home at a fancy cocktail party, than he would here; climbing a dingy stairway in a third rate apartment complex. People might have asked him why he was there, had not the aura of rage he was radiating effectively and immediately dissuaded them.

At last reaching the end of the accursed stairs, he looked around him. His sharp eyes soon pinpointed his destination: Apartment 128. Haughtily stomping over to it, he held his hand high as though to knock on the sloppily painted wooden door.

Then the first shadows of doubt sank in, and he simply stood with his hand raised for a moment. Did he really want to do this? Why was he even here right now, he didn't have any idea of what to say.

Go get help, Kevin? That sounded too high and mighty, Kevin wouldn't listen. Besides, he had already gotten counseling from a therapist, it obviously hadn't worked.

Stay the hell away from Lauren and I, Kevin? No, that would just set him off and put them all in more danger.

Enough of this, Michael told himself. He had to knock now before he completely lost his nerve. It was ridiculous, trying to come up with a speech when it was only making him more nervous. Without allowing himself time to think, he rapped his fist three time against the door, the sound reverberating throughout the not quite empty hallway.

VvV

"Gloria, I'm home!" called John from outside his own mansion. Gloria looked up from a gigantic pile of tissues; eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. She had been crying all day, even though it was only a few hours after sunrise. She had awoken to a terrible nightmare of Kevin and Michael fighting amongst a mountain of ceramic shrapnel. The dream had ended with them both being arrested. She knew it hadn't made a great deal of sense, but it still managed to sum up her current fears very accurately.

She heard the door open, and she hastily disposed of the tissues. She couldn't tell John that she had been crying over Kevin, who she was afraid would be arrested for trying to kill John's own daughter, Ashley. She had a feeling he wouldn't be very understanding.

Looking at her reflection in the microwave, she hastily scrubbed off the runs in her make-up so it wasn't so obvious that she had been crying, and ran to the door to greet her husband. "John! Where have you been?" she asked. He had left early this morning, before she had woken up.

He smiled warmly, obviously pleased about something. "Well, I had a consult with the F.B.I." Gloria stood wide-eyed, and couldn't think of anything to say, so she nodded. John continued, "They said that they would take the case and do all in their power to find the scoundrel who did this to my daughter." He smiled broadly, revealing his perfectly white teeth.

Gloria swallowed, she hoped not audibly, before saying: "Well… that is wonderful news."

John was obviously too cheerful to notice his wife's insincerity. She wasn't very good at hiding things, but he wasn't very good at finding hidden things. Perhaps they were made for each other.

VvV

"Are we actually lost?" asked Sara Sidle, disbelievingly.

"I'm afraid so," said Gil Grissom.

"But how can we be lost?" Sara inquired, incredulously.

"Gil was holding the map upside down,' said Catherine Willows irritably. None of them were in very good moods. The plane had been held up for an examination after landing, and no one had been allowed to leave until morning the next day. Then they had walked for hours in the hot early morning sun of Genoa City, while Grissom had rambled on about cephalopods the entire way. Now they had to walk all the way back, and probably be the last people to arrive at the forensics convention.

VvV

"Hey, Mikey! Um… what are you doing here?" asked Kevin. Michael was taken aback to see Kevin like this: Kevin appeared surprised but bubbly. He was obviously pleased about something; he was wearing a goofy grin like a medal of honor. Michael felt his blood boil. Kevin had almost killed someone, and here he was. Happy, as though nothing had happened.

Michael was just about to open his mouth and damn well tell Kevin what he was doing there, when someone else came to the door. He recognized the girl as Mackenzie, and seeing her here shocked Michael so much that he forgot whatever it was he was about to shout at his brother.

Mackenzie looked like she had just gotten out of the shower. She was wearing only a bathrobe, which looked to belong to Kevin, and her brown-red hair hung in wet strands that framed her face. Thinking it highly unlikely that Mac had just stopped at Kevin's house to borrow his shower, Michael asked his brother, "What is _she_ doing here?"

Mackenzie was smiling in the same goofy way Kevin was as he said, "We're engaged."

Michael nearly fell backwards down the stairs, but he somehow managed to regain his balance. Kevin and Mackenzie both began to chatter nonstop about the wedding arrangements. Michael smiled weakly. "That's great news," he lied. "Kevin, I need to talk to you in private," he said, dropping his tone.

"Okay," said Kevin, waving goodbye to his fiancé as Michael led him as far away from his apartment as the hallway would allow. He turned his head to make sure that Mac was back in the apartment and not listening in on their conversation. Sure enough, the door was closed.

"I know what you did to Ashley Abbott," said Michael, his voice quiet. The smile dropped from Kevin's face. He opened and closed his mouth several times, looking like a fish in need of water. "You can't get married like this. You can't live with Mackenzie. You'll only hurt her."

Kevin's expression was filled with doubt and pain. Michael had obviously hit a nerve. After a long pause, Kevin finally spoke. "I have to, Michael… I love her."

"If you really love her, you'll stay away from her," advised Michael, his voice steady and sure. He knew, however, that he wasn't actually as sure of his words as he tried to sound.

"What about you? You're marrying Lauren even though it will put her in danger from Tom's enemy," rationalized Kevin icily.

"That's different. I can protect her. You can't even protect her from yourself," said Michael, his voice just as cold as Kevin's had been.

Kevin returned to his apartment and Michael retreated down the stairs. Both brothers felt sick from the heavy conversation.

VvV

"There has to be a faster way to get there," sighed Sara. She was exhausted and irritated, as were her fellow travelers. They had been walking back to the airport to find their way from there. The long hours spent trekking in the hot sun had made them all a little worse for wear. Sara was grateful for the first time since arriving that she had forgotten to dress up. Catherine and Grissom both looked uncomfortable in their fancy clothes, and Catherine was having a difficult time walking in her awkward high-heeled shoes.

The sun was now very high in the sky, and you didn't have to be a genius to know that it was getting late. In fact, the conference was probably over. It was an event that lasted a few days, and they probably weren't expected to make a speech or anything on the opening day, but still, it was really rude to miss the registration and introductions.

None of them could believe that Grissom could track down mass murderers but hadn't realized that he was looking at the map upside down. He was normally the most observant person Sara had met in her life, so it was probably the lack of sleep getting to him; he had spent the entire last night awake reading his squid book. Now his eyes were noticeably bloodshot and his steps were tired. They walked past countless skyscrapers and stores, but the scenery was so repetitive that it was sometimes hard to tell if they were only walking in circles.

They had tried to call a taxi to drive them, but none of them had brought any money with them, and the cab services wouldn't accept credit cards. Catherine and Sara had wanted to ask for directions, but Grissom had been too proud and insisted that he could find the way.

They passed a coffee shop with a bench out front. Catherine sat down and stubbornly refused to move. Grissom tried to convince her to come, saying that it was only a short distance away, but Catherine had shot him a withering glare and said, "Maybe not to you, but I don't see _you_ wearing high heels."

Grissom gave up and he and Sara both sat down beside Catherine. "I'll go get coffee," decided Sara, hoping that caffeine would make them all feel a little more alive. Grissom and Catherine made requests, and Sara entered the shop to buy coffee.

When she was in the shop, it suddenly occurred to her that she could ask for directions without Grissom realizing.

VvV

John Abbott stood in line at the coffee shop. He and Gloria had been on their way to visit Ashley, when he had realized how thirsty he was. Gloria had seen a sale on clothing in the shop across the street, and she had left to look while John waited in line for their coffees.

The line was long and steadily growing. He was last in line until a dark haired young women entered. She wore black slacks and a blue T-shirt, and her hair was tied back very casually in a ponytail. She was very pretty, even though she looked exhausted.

"Excuse me, do you know where the Forensics Convention is?" she asked him. Her voice was pleasant, but there was a note of urgency in it.

"Why, yes I do! I'm one of the sponsors for it. John Abbott, pleased to meet you," said John, extending a hand.

The woman shook it, her grip surprisingly firm. "Sara Sidle. I'm one of the crime scene investigators from Las Vegas at the convention."

John suddenly felt a leap of hope. The F.B.I. were on the case to find his daughter's enemy, and a whole team of C.S.I.s from Las Vegas would be in town as well. Las Vegas was said to have one of the best, or even _the_ best, crime scene investigation team in America. He decided to cut to the chase. "You may have heard this already, but my daughter was recently attacked by an unknown person. Could you perhaps do anything to track him down?"

Sara Sidle seemed to have heard about the case, because her eyes lit up with recognition. "I can't do anything myself yet, but I'll mention it to the other C.S.I.s on my team. Maybe we can get permission to work on the case."

"Thank you, that will be most appreciated," said John. He ordered his coffee and sat down to drink it as he waited for Gloria. He put her costly fur coat down on the chair next to him. He sipped his creamy drink, a few chocolate shavings floating atop the foam. It tasted very refreshing, but he restrained himself from drinking it all in one long draught.

He noticed Sara staring intensely at the fur coat.

"Mr. Abbott, do you have anyone currently assigned to the case?" asked Sara.

"Yes, I have notified the F.B.I.." said John, raising his head from his coffee.

"I seriously recommend you take this coat to them as evidence. There's a bloodstain on it."


	9. Unwelcome

The Darkness Within her Eyes

Part 2

Chapter 9

Unwelcome

**I would like to thank Marcus Ma, who helped to write this chapter. I referred to J.T. as Justin a few times, just because it's easier to type and I got tired of always calling him J.T.. If it bothers you just tell me and I won't refer ti him as Justin in future chapters. **

…

…

"Hey, Mac, where are you?" J. T. Helstrom asked through the crackly connection of his cell phone. Two days ago he had had a heated argument with Mac. He could hardly remember what it was even about now, just that Mac had overreacted. She had accused him of never being there for her, for ignoring her when she had tried to tell him something important. That had infuriated J.T.. He had done so much for her! He had written her songs, lived with her, helped her with anything that was ever weighing on her mind.

In his anger he had said that he didn't need her, that he had found someone else who wasn't so demanding. In retrospect, he wasn't exactly sure why he had said that. It _was _a lie, he hadn't cheated on Mackenzie. Immediately he had regretted having said that, but he wasn't prepared to take it back. If something had been bothering her she should have said so, not waited for J.T. to guess. He wasn't a mind reader after all.

Mac had walked out of the loft after that, leaving him standing speechless in the place, alone. He had to admit, she did have a right to be angry with him for saying that, but not _that _angry. And she had been angry with him before he had even said anything at all, so the entire situation hadn't made much since to J.T..

He hadn't seen her for an entire day after that, and now he was feeling pretty worried about her. He had thought she was distraught or simply too angry with him and refused to call. But as the time passed he had realized that it was up to him to call, she wasn't going to come back without him apologizing.

But to his surprise, she didn't sound depressed or upset. "Oh, is this J.T.?" Her voice was controlled, and he could swear it sounded a bit like she was mocking him, But J.T. dismissed this notion as soon as it entered his head; Mac didn't mock people. She was always understanding and honest, not bitter or sarcastic. That wasn't the Mackenzie he knew, and he didn't expect her to change now.

"Yeah, Mac. I gotta tell you, I'm relieved you're alright. It's not safe for a girl to be out there by herself. I've looked everywhere for you, your grandmother didn't know where you were either. Where are you?"

When Mac spoke again, it still had that hidden barb of sarcasm, although this time it was much more thinly veiled. "First of all, I don't think you have the right to decide what's safe for me and what isn't. You're not my boyfriend anymore, if I recall correctly, and besides, I'm smart enough to make up my own mind without you. Second of all, I wasn't alone. My _fiance _was with me. I'm staying with him by the way."

For a moment J.T. was at a loss for words. Was she just making it up about having a fiance? Surely she couldn't have acquired one that quickly? Yeah, that must be it. She was making it all up.

But the Mac he knew didn't lie...

"Who's your fiance?" he managed to say after a long pause.

There was a ruffling sound of what J.T. inferred was the sound of the phone being passed from Mac to another person's hands. "Hey, J.T.. How's it going?" asked the unmistakably cocky voice of Kevin Fisher.

VvV

"Just wondering, why exactly are we taking this case?" asked the F.B.I. agent. He was new to the Bureau, having only recently completed the extensive training required. But being new didn't make him foolish, far from it. His dark eyes shone with intelligence and curiosity. "I mean, it doesn't seem that urgent. No one has been kidnapped, and this doesn't seem to be an immediate threat to the public." The Abbott case was fairly high profile, as the Abbotts were very wealthy people. But being rich wouldn't make them a higher priority than the general public, would it? The agent certainly hoped it didn't, as that would make the F.B.I. very corrupt, wouldn't it? He hated to think that he could be working for a corrupt organization.

He was one of the two agents currently assigned to interview people connected to the crime. Once they had completed this task, the Bureau would decide which division was best suited to work on solving the case.

"Are you really so sure about that? That it isn't a threat to the public?" asked his partner on the mission. She was older than him by at least ten years, making her in her late thirties.

"Well, yeah, "said the agent, trying as hard as he could to make his voice sound confident. He had been pretty sure of his statement at first, but the fact that she was talking to him in that condescending tone made him doubtful his own notion.

"Think about it, Marks. There has been a major increase in crime in Genoa city," she said, her eyes focused sharply on the younger agent walking beside her.

"So they're wondering if the crimes are in anyway connected," finished Marks. It was said as a statement, but he shot her a questioning glance as though seeking confirmation.

"That would be my guess as well. There have been three confirmed murders and at least one murder attempt this month alone, and it's barely half over. All in a similar area as well. You can't deny it sounds a bit suspicious."

Marks nodded.

VvV

"Open this door, Fisher!" shouted Justin Todd, hitting the door to apartment 128 with his fist, shaking the door on its hinges.

The door swung open from the force, creaking as it did so. Justin cautiously opened the door the rest of the way and peered inside. He almost expected Kevin to jump out and attack him. Seeing no one, he stepped inside and looked around. Kevin was either hiding or he wasn't there.

As Justin started to make his way to the kitchen, being careful not to make any noise, he heard footsteps on the stairs in the hall. He quickly backed out of the apartment and saw Kevin and Mackenzie running up. Furious and with fists clenched, he ran to meet them.

Kevin was ahead of Mackenzie on the stairs, so he saw J.T. first. "You!..." he shouted in surprise, his eyes widening before narrowing into a hateful glare.

They met at the end of the hallway, and J.T. barreled into Kevin before he could say anything else. Taken off-guard, Kevin fell backwards into Mackenzie, who fell back down the stairs. Kevin managed to save himself by grabbing the bannister, and gave a kick to J.T.'s stomach. "Mac!" he cried out. He swiveled his head around to see if she was alright, and, although he didn't have much time to look, she seemed to be uninjured.

J.T. hadn't noticed Mackenzie, for his mind was too consumed with thoughts of exacting revenge on Kevin Fisher that he didn't notice much else around him.

Justin staggered backwards a few steps, and this gave Kevin a chance to fully regain his footing on level ground. They faced each other, circling slowly.

Kevin knew that he was at a disadvantage. J.T. was taller and stronger than he was, and J.T. grinned as if he could read the worry off Kevin's face. Kevin knew that the only chance he might have was if he could take down Justin quickly and efficiently. The problem was that he didn't know how to best accomplish that.

While Kevin was busy pondering his strategy, J.T. rushed at him again. This time Kevin was ready, and the two combatants were soon locked in a tight embrace, neither one gaining the advantage despite J.T.'s bigger size and strength. Kevin managed to trip J.T., and both men fell to the ground. Kevin started savagely punching Justin, aiming most of his blows to the face. Justin, having had the wind knocked out of him by the fall, was trying desperately to block the punches.

Just when it seemed as if Kevin was gaining the advantage, J.T. managed to grab Kevin's wrist as he threw a punch. He twisted Kevin's arm, causing Kevin to cry out in pain. This allowed Justin to retaliate with a strong punch to Kevin's head, knocking him to the ground. Both men got up and grabbed at each other's throats. J.T. got the advantage and managed to get Kevin in a headlock. As Kevin struggled to get out of it, J.T. started repeatedly bashing Kevin's head into the wall, leaving rather sizable dents as well as bloodstains.

Meanwhile, Mackenzie had recovered from being thrown down the flight of stairs, thankfully without receiving serious injuries. She stood up shakily, tilting her head back to see up the stairs. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw: Kevin's head being used as a battering ram against the wall. Kevin's face was distorted with agony, and J.T. appeared to be insane with rage. She felt sick to her stomach, especially after seeing the blood splatters on the floor walls. Both J.T. and Kevin appeared to have serious injuries.

Mac slid a shaking hand into the pocket of her coat and removed a cell phone, thankfully unbroken. She would have breathed a sigh of relief had she had the time. But she had to do this as soon as she could, it could be a matter of life and death. She prayed in a whisper that the phone wasn't damaged internally. She pressed the first button and was answered by a soft beeping noise and a blue light indicating the device was functional.

When J.T. saw Mackenzie coming back up the stair out of the corner of one bloody eye, he dropped a nearly unconscious Kevin onto the floor. Sirens could be heard as the police make their way onto the scene.

VvV

"Mr. Abbott, did your daughter have any enemies?"

John took a deep breath to refrain from screaming. He had already explained to the police that she didn't. Either they hadn't listened, didn't believe him, or thought he was senile. It wasn't flattering, but he was more concerned about the fact that nothing was being done aside from the asking of repeating questions. "No. No, she didn't have any enemies."

"That you know of, that is," said the female agent he had been told to refer to as Agent O'Riley. She said it as more of a statement than a question, but her tone of voice demanded a confirmation or denial of the sentence.

"Yes, that I know of," John conceded, but then found the need to add, "but she told me everything. I would have known if she had an enemy like this."

Agent Marks, the younger and less aggressive of the duo nodded, but O'Riley raised her eyebrows. "Everything?" she asked doubtfully.

"Well, no, not literally everything. Just everything important, and something like this is obviously _important_." He emphasized the last word, subtly hinting that at least _someone _was doing something important. Had this woman never heard of figures of speech? She took everything literally, and her serious face seemed to be chiseled from stone and incapable of any expression, save for a gloomy, cynical stare and a flat line of a mouth.

John was at his mansion, where the two F.B.I. agents had come to interview him. The F.B.I. insisted on interviewing everyone separately, probably to see if any of the stories contradicted. Then they would have a liar, and therefore, a suspect. John was the first to be interviewed. Gloria and Jack had been asked to leave the house, and had done so. Of course, this task was not completed without some protests from Gloria, complaints of the agents "rudely barging in and ordering her about." John had quickly told her that they had better obey the F.B.I., and Gloria had departed with a farewell accompanied by a flowery wave.

"Look, I'm sure this can tell you more than I can," said John, handing over his wife's coat. He indicated what Sara had deemed a bloodstain.

John was sure Gloria hadn't been a part of the crime, but perhaps this could be used to pinpoint the time of the attack. Maybe it could be even more useful, but John didn't know how so; he wasn't a crime scene investigator or an F.B.I. agent.

As O'Riley took the coat and examined it, John could have sworn he saw a look of surprise cross her face.


	10. Quandaries and Boundaries

The Darkness Within her Eyes

Part 2

Chapter 10

Quandaries and Boundaries

Wow, I can't believe this story already has 10 chapters… Double digits! Yay! I guess I shouldn't be saying "already" as it's taken me a pretty long time to write all this… but I'm still happy.

I guess I should answer some frequently asked questions. Actually, there weren't that many questions asked, so I'll just answer all of them.

Someone (my cousin) asked if Marks has anything to do with Karl Marx. The answer is no. This story has nothing to do with communism.

This plotline is not stolen/borrowed from "Cold Burn" by Max Allen Collins. I haven't even read that book yet, though I intend to. No one actually asked if it was, but when I read the back of "Cold Burn" it sounded kind of similar.

The reason that the last chapter had so much drama was because it was sort of like the climax to that story ark. It was basically the KevinMacJ.T. love triangle reaching its pinnacle (I think that's the right word). It's like the drama that happened when Kevin attacked Ashley and the KevinInsanity story ark came to a climax.

Mac agreed to Kevin's proposal.

Final question. Is Sheila coming back? The answer is yes, although you might not realize it. It's a mystery, and tracking down Sheila will soon become a main part of it.

Sorry if these questions made you impatient for the story. I tried to answer them as quickly as I could. If you have any further questions or comments please say so in a review, e-mail, or private message.

…

…

"I don't remember any of it," said the frustrated voice of the young woman. Sighing, O'Riley punched the button on the tape-recorded, causing it to halt in its regurgitation of their interrogation of Ashley Abbot. It was a high-tech piece of equipment, but the tape recorder proved to be useless in helping them find out anything more than Ashley had told them – not much.

"So Marks, what do you make of this?" asked O'Riley, a humorless smile decorating her almost inflexible, always serious face.

Marks had an odd feeling, like a student put on the spot. It always seemed like O'Riley was testing him. "Well, she seemed to be telling the truth. I mean, she seemed honest enough. And she looked to the right, not the left. If people look to the left it means they're making something up, and looking to the right means they're remembering –" O'Riley cut him off.

"Marks, that's a theory. It's not always true. We can't know if she's being honest or not based on an imprecise science."

"Well… then I guess we can't really learn anything from the interview. She didn't tell us anything. I guess we can't do much for this case until trace analyzes that bloodstain on the coat."

O'Riley nodded. A strange sense of relief washed over Marks, once again feeling like a student, this time one who had just barely passed his exams. Or a suspect who had just barely held it together during his interrogation.

VvV

"Second time this week, Fisher?" asked chief of the Genoa Police Force, raising a bushy eyebrow.

Kevin groaned inwardly. His reputation would never let him be. "Hey, it wasn't my fault. Last time I found an unconscious woman, and-and this time I was assaulted! By a man who broke down my door and invaded my apartment, no less!" He was almost surprised by his own reaction. He felt mostly defensive anger that the police chief didn't believe him, and no guilt over his first lie. Maybe he was getting used to lying again. Being a good liar may not be an admirable quality, but it came in handy to a person like himself, thought Kevin.

"Hey, chill out. Now calmly explain what happened between you and Mr. Helstrom."

Kevin, realizing he had been gesticulating wildly during his speech, stiffened his shoulders and put his hands by his side. _I just _told _you that, _Kevin felt like saying, but he restrained himself. He had to try to act as civil as possible to get out of here as soon as he could.

The truth was, he was sick with worry for Mac. That _stupid _J.T. 's actions had sent her to the hospital. Sure, he hadn't actually done anything to her, but when she fell down the stairs it could have really hurt her or the baby. Kevin had to see if she was all right, and this police chief was the only obstacle in his way

"I went up the stairs to my apartment. Mackenzie was with me. I saw the door to the apartment was open and then J.T. charged at me and pushed Mac down the stairs. He beat me up and I must have fallen unconscious or something because next thing I know I'm in an ambulance." Kevin felt a small sense of accomplishment at remaining sane while completing his lengthy monologue. At least, it seemed lengthy to him.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" asked the police chief in a patronizing tone.

"Now, can I go see my fiancé?" asked Kevin, his impatience getting the better of him.

"We have to keep you under observation for the day. I'm sorry, but it's policy. You're still a suspect in an attempted murder, and now you've been involved with another assault."

"Well, can't you have someone go with me to the hospital? Like a police officer, I mean. You said I had to be kept under observation, they could observe me just as well there!"

To his surprise, the chief nodded. "Alright, Fisher. You can go see her, but Officer Wood is going with you. Come right back here as soon as you're done talking to your fiancé."

"Thank you, sir," said Kevin, his voice filled with gratitude. He soon left the building accompanied by the willowy, brown-haired Officer Wood. The chief smiled to himself.

VvV

Catherine leaned back in her chair, feeling content. She was absorbing every word of the speech Grissom had been called upon to make. " As technology becomes more advanced, it becomes available to both criminals and the law. In the end it comes down to who can better utilize their resources."

They had made it to the conference, finally. It seemed that everything had worked out. They had found an excellent hotel to stay at, and they all had enjoyed a good night's sleep there.

Sara had even been able to change into more formal clothes. Now Sara, seated beside Catherine, had other issues on her mind. The one that kept coming back to her was the bloodstain that Mr. Abbott had shown her. She hoped that he had turned it over to the authorities. She wished that she could meet him again, but it was unlikely that their paths would ever cross a second time. After this conference ended tomorrow, they would all be going back to Las Vegas, which was probably for the best.

Sara knew she was a workaholic who sometimes got too close to her cases. But she had a stressful, and important, job, and it was hard to sit by and do nothing when crime was going on. There had actually been a few cases like this where people had come to her and asked for help. In general, she was unable to do anything unless she was assigned the case. It would just get in the way of the ongoing investigation and cause more problems if she acted without prior approval. It would be foolish to try to help in the Abbott case. After all, it wasn't even in her city.

"And our most important resource, " Grissom finished, "is our minds." He returned to his seat amidst thunderous applause.

VvV

"Bingo. Houston, we have a match," said Agent Hailey Wing to no one in particular. She looked at her research, more than a little pleased with herself. It was dark in the room, to let the chemicals react properly. The coat that had previously had a red-brown spot on it was now adorned with a purplish spot. Positive for blood. Human blood. And as her computer program had revealed, an exact match to Ashley Abbott's blood.

She emerged to the room where Marks and O'Riley were gathered, listening over interview tapes. "What did you find out, Hailey?" inquired O'Riley.

"It's definitely a match to Ms. Ashley Abbott. All the alleles in common," stated Hailey. O'Riley gestured for her to continue. "Also, you said this coat belonged to Missis Gloria Abbott, correct?"

"Yeah," said O'Riley, a slight degree of impatience ringing in her voice. That wasn't exactly unusual; O'Riley was always in a rush.

"Well, it was thinly spread out, but unevenly. Judging by the photos of the crime scene, there was water everywhere by the time authorities arrived on the scene. This would indicate that the water mixed with the blood. Since it was unevenly distributed in the fabric, it would seem that Gloria Abbott was there immediately after the attack happened, maybe even while it was going on. Before the blood had a chance to mix evenly."

"Gloria said she just walked in to find her there… so either she's lying or was incredibly lucky to find her right at the time of the incident," mused Marks.

"Thanks Hailey, you've been a great help," said O'Riley.

"Yeah, thanks!" added Marks.

"No problem," said Hailey. She still had an odd nagging feeling that she was missing something.

VvV

"What do you mean I can't go in?" exclaimed an aggravated Kevin.

"Mackenzie has just had an ultrasound to see if the child she is carrying is alright. Under normal conditions only the father would be allowed to see her, but she doesn't want to see him either," said the doctor, unfazed by Kevin's anger.

Kevin exhaled a string of obscenities, only to be reprimanded by a glare from a passing nurse.

"Well, can you at least tell her I'm here?" asked Kevin, once again regaining control, though with difficulty. The one good thing was that at least Mackenzie seemed to be unharmed from what he had been told, but Kevin was still worried about the kid.

Suddenly, Kevin was hit by the irony of it all. He couldn't believe that it was J.T.'s kid he was worried about. He shook off that thought. He was worried about Mac's kid. And even if J.T. was technically the father, he wasn't the one the kid would grow up with. Kevin would be. The thought of this suddenly shocked Kevin. He didn't have any clue about how to be a dad.

_I guess I'll just do the exact opposite of everything Tom did, _thought Kevin.

He sat down in one of the waiting room chairs, unsure of what else to do. Officer Wood, who had never said a word this whole time and might as well have been made of wood, was already sitting down. Across from Kevin was J.T., who looked equally anxious to see Mac. _If you didn't want to lose her, you shouldn't have cheated on her. You idiot, J.T., _Kevin thought to himself.

Kevin picked up a magazine, even though he didn't feel at all like reading. But he needed a way to pass the time, and this was all that he could think of to do. It was some kind of skiing magazine. Oh joy. Kevin didn't ski, nor did he know anything about it. The woman on the cover, wearing some kind of skiing uniform and holding up a medal, grinning, looked kind of like Mac. This made Kevin feel even worse.

Kevin put the magazine back on top of the pile of countless others. "Hey Fisher," said J.T.. Kevin was caught off-guard by his tone. There was no anger, or even noticeable animosity. He seemed to be simply tired.

_He must have been sitting here since they got here, _realized Kevin. _That would have been at least six hours ago. He must have been feeling pretty guilty if he was willing to just wait this long._ _But it serves him right, _decided Kevin.


	11. Fear of the Unknown

The Darkness Within Her Eyes

Part 2

Chapter 11

Fear of the Unknown

…

Sorry for the long wait. I had final exams, and then I was on vacation without access to a computer.

…

Agent Camilla O'Riley stared down the long, beige hallway, admiring its symmetry. Conch-shell shaped lamps placed at even intervals hung by thin, braided gold chains from the ceiling. When she heard the background of Scott Fenmore, she expected him to be staying at an expensive hotel, but this took it to the next level.

She wore a formfitting suit and black dress pants, and her shoulder-length red hair was neatly tied back. She had been surprised when her superior had recommended she dress up for the interview. They were undercover and wanted to remain inconspicuous, after all. But in this place, fancy _was _inconspicuous. She could have worn a ballroom gown and no one would have batted an eye.

"Remind me again why we're here?" asked Marks, also clad in a suit, who stood next to her. He always seemed to be standing next to her nowadays. She must have really got on some superior's bad side to always get stuck paired with the most naïve agent in the entire Federal Bureau of Investigation.

"Because his best friend went missing," she said shortly.

"I know _that. _I do read the assignment summaries, you know," said Marks, sounding like an indignant child. This was probably the first time he had ever talked back to her. At least it was a change.

"It's like I said, looking for connections. There's nothing we can do right now on the Abbott case, so we're investigating this one until we get the warrant for the hospital records."

"So it's a slow news day," said Marks.

"Yeah, basically," O'Riley grudgingly admitted.

She rapped her knuckles against the door to Fenmore's hotel room. The wood was cool to the touch. Her knocking was soon answered by the sound of a person shuffling around within the room. After the clattering of metal locks being undone, the door opened inward and a man's head appeared.

"Scott… Fenmore?" inquired Marks, clearly trying very hard not to let his surprise show, and failing miserably.

All the FBI agents had been taught never to make assumptions, but when it came to actually putting this into practice, most new agents failed. When Marks had heard that Scott Fenmore was an educated, wealthy man, he had been entirely unprepared for the disheveled, agitated-looking young man he saw before him. "Yeah. You the police?" Scott asked, scanning them over with bloodshot eyes. His dark curly hair was uncombed, and contrasted harshly with his pale skin.

He was obviously very distressed, or an incredible actor. But even if the grief was real, it didn't rule him out as a suspect.

--VvV—

"Man, I really hope she's okay," said Kevin, exhaling sharply. He pressed a hand up against his forehead. He was tired and had a splitting headache, but would never allow himself any sleep until he saw Mac. He had bought a can of hyper-caffeinated soda from a hospital vending machine, and he took a deep swig from it.

"Me too, Fisher. Me too," sighed Justin. Some of his hair had fallen out of its usual spiky points and was now hanging limply in his eyes.

Kevin hadn't been speaking to anyone in particular, but upon looking across the room and spying the man who had responded, Kevin had an idea. He had to kill some time, and he had to clue J.T. in on something. Might as well kill two birds with one stone. _Stop with the morbid metaphors, _Kevin reprimanded himself.

"Look, J.T., we need to sort something out. Why were you in my apartment?" said Kevin bluntly. For a brief moment, he wondered if he wanted to be getting into this conversation. He might only make Justin angry again, and he already knew nothing good ever came of _that. _But Kevin dismissed this notion. It was too late to back out now.

"No, Kevin. I don't think we should-" J.T. gave a nervous chuckle as Kevin cut him off. He was definitely not going to let J.T. back out of this.

"J.T., we have to sort this out. Why were you there?" Kevin was a bit surprised at the force behind his words, but he couldn't say he wasn't pleased.

"Fine." J.T. reluctantly divulged, "I was looking for Mac. I was going to ask her to come back."

"That _doesn't _explain the breaking and entering aspect."

"I knocked and the door just came open!" Justin exclaimed defensively, in a sudden blaze of fury. He was standing up, his stance indicating he was ready for a fight. Then the anger in his eyes seemed to die down, he groaned slightly, and sat back down. "Sorry, it's just, I'm worried about her. My nerves are completely on edge."

"No, that's alright," said Kevin, in a slightly patronizing tone. He was enjoying his control over J.T.'s emotions, at the moment.

"I can't believe I did this to her," mumbled J.T.. Kevin actually had to strain his ears to hear. Justin's face was in his hands, and Kevin couldn't see his expression.

Kevin was startled to find himself feeling guilty. He couldn't believe that J.T. actually cared so much about Mac. _Maybe he's right. Maybe he's better for her than me. _"J.T., I'm not going to press charges against you unless Mac wants to," said a voice. Kevin was shocked when he realized it was his own. "She's the one who got hurt out of this," he added.

When J.T. heard Kevin's voice, he suddenly snapped back to his usual, confident self. He wasn't going to let the world pity him, and he was especially not going to let Kevin Fisher pity him. He was going to take charge of the situation. "You're an okay guy, Fisher. I'm surprised."

Kevin wasn't sure whether to take offense at this barbed accolade.

Justin continued. "But you should give up Mackenzie. I'm best for her." J.T. wasn't quite sure why he had said the last part, since he wasn't at all sure about it at the moment. But maybe that was why he had said it.

Kevin stood up, realizing he had been tightly clutching the pop can, his fingers leaving indents in the thin metal. "J.T., you don't own Mac. No one owns Mac, all right? She's a free spirit, and she's the only one who knows what's best for her."

"You are welcome to see the patient," interrupted a voice. Both Kevin and J.T. turned to see that it belonged to a nurse in a blue and white uniform.

"You mean… both of us?" asked Kevin uneasily.

The nurse nodded. "Oh, thank G-d," said J.T., and Kevin guessed he was referring to being able to see Mac rather than them both being allowed in.

As both men rushed in to see Mackenzie, clumsy in their haste, and the nurse went on to tend to other business, Officer Wood was left forgotten and alone. He withdrew a pair of white rubber gloves from the pocket of his black suit jacket.

--VvV—

"What was your relationship with the Brenda Harris?" asked Agent O'Riley. The inside of Scott Fenmore's hotel room was organized and tidy, unlike the one temporarily living there, which made O'Riley suspect he probably had maid service.

Scott and Marks were both sitting on a black sofa, and O'Riley sat across from them on a chair made of a polished reddish wood.

"We were friends. We'd been friends a long time," said Scott, speaking in a dazed monotone.

"How long?" asked Marks.

"I don't know. Really long," said Scott. He so far hadn't been able to recall any specific details, which had been extremely frustrating to both FBI agents.

"How close were you?"

"We were friends."

"Just friends?"

"Really great friends!" said Scott, suddenly seeming angry at Marks.

"When did you last speak to her?" asked O'Riley, deciding she had better take over.

"Over the phone, while she was at the hospital, I talked to her. That was, seven days ago." He seemed to be wracking his brain to remember this.

"And what did she say?"

"I… I don't remember! I hadn't considered it important!" Scott seemed to break down, slamming the back of his head against the back of the sofa they were sitting on. He looked like he was about to cry, but didn't. It seemed like he had run out of tears.

"Are you okay?" asked Camilla, sounding concerned but calm.

"Yeah, fine. Let's continue," said Scott, regaining control.

"Mr. Fenmore, I realize this is poor timing, but… could I please use your washroom?" asked Marks tactfully. O'Riley silently praised him. He was actually going to search the hotel room (which was actually more like a miniature house, with its own hallway, kitchen, living room, and bedroom. How the rich lived! thought O'Riley.).

"Yeah, sure," said Scott dismissively. He pointed a hand in the direction and Marks left.

"Did Ms. Harris have any enemies?" asked O'Riley, looking deeply into Scott's bloodshot eyes. She didn't feel guilty about intimidating him like this. If he didn't have anything to hide she wasn't a threat to him.

"Yeah! Oh, I can't believe I didn't mention this earlier, I'm such a fool," said Scott, his voice sounding strange.

"You weren't asked earlier. Please continue."

Meanwhile, Marks was scanning his surroundings meticulously. He didn't see anything that appeared atypical. Dark shiny hardwood floor, a desk with a rotating chair, a single bed, and a coffee table with several framed photographs on it.

He picked up one of the photographs carefully. He recognized it as Brenda Harris. Something about the picture sent a chill down his spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. Maybe it was just the concept of seeing a woman who may be dead, smiling up at him. Or maybe it was those eyes that seemed to pierce through him, all the way to his soul.

He put the picture down. It wasn't anything interesting, just Brenda standing beside Scott in front of a cliff, a blue silhouette of a mountain behind them. Both were smiling. _It must be driving the man mad, having to see her smiling at him first thing every day, _thought Marks.

The other photographs were of Scott's family. Judging by this fact, Scott wasn't in a relationship with anyone, or else he would have pictures of them. Unless that is, he and Brenda Harris had been more than friends.

Marks made his way over to the desk. He noticed for the fist time the slim white object on it, emitting a mechanical whirr. A laptop computer.

He unfolded it, and as the screen cleared from black to the opening display, the first thing he noticed was the background Scott had set the screen on. It was the photograph with the blue mountain. _This guy must be really twisted, to want to see her all the time. _It just didn't seem right.

He opened the Recent Items folder. It linked to Internet, Manuscript V.1, Manuscript V.2, and Manuscript Rough Copy. Marks clicked on Manuscript V.1.

The words **ENTER PASSWORD **popped onto the screen. Marks closed the document, deciding he didn't have time to guess the password. He tried Manuscript V.2 and got the same result. Finally he tried Manuscript Rough Copy.

The screen filled with dozens of pages of text. "_Based on a true story," _he read.

He was suddenly startled by the sound of footsteps. He hastily closed the computer and stood up. His eyes darted wildly around the room, but no one was in sight. _Must have been someone from another room._

Nonetheless, it reminded Marks that he had best be getting back to O'Riley and Scott.

"Thank you Scott. This information has been extremely helpful," said Camilla. _And intriguing, _she mentally added. This case was starting to get interesting.

Marks came back and took his seat, just as O'Riley was preparing to leave.

_You won't believe what you missed, _she thought.


	12. Chasm

The Darkness Within Her Eyes

Part 2

Chapter 12

Chasm

…

I'm not quite sure how good this chapter is, it turned out really different than I expected. I have a lot of ideas for future chapters, and I've worked out a lot of the plot details, which is good. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks again to everyone who reviewed.

…

"Are you alright?" Kevin and J.T. asked in unison. They shot disgustful glares at each other from across the small room, as though each was accusing the other of reading his mind and stealing the words he had planned to say.

"How's the baby?" Kevin added quickly, feeling oddly triumphant to have queried this before J.T. had a chance to.

"We're both fine," answered Mackenzie. Her voice sounded tired but happy and calm.

"What? You mean…" J.T. started and then trailed off. "That's… that's great." He found himself laughing, though he wasn't sure why.

"It's yours," said Mac.

"Wha… wow," said J.T., at a loss for words. He had suspected it was his, as Mac had only been living with Kevin for a few days. That wasn't long enough to get pregnant and know it, right? J.T. wasn't quite sure, but he doubted it. But hearing Mac say it was his… wow seemed to be the only word his mind could come up with. But who cared that his brain was unable to string two words together? He was going to have a _kid. _Wow.

The three of them were congregated in Mac's hospital room. Mackenzie was sitting up in her hospital bed, the white blankets covering her feet. Aside from her slightly messy hair and the tired look on her face, she looked completely fine. This was more than could be said for the two men, who both looked extremely stressed out and exhausted. That oddly sterile hospital scent lingered like a toxic vapor in the air, causing a sense of uneasiness to rise in Kevin.

"Do you know when you can come back home?" asked Kevin. He was standing beside her on one side, while J.T. stood on the other.

"They said that I can leave this afternoon," said Mackenzie. This confirmed Kevin's hypothesis that he had been there a full night, and now that he knew this for certain, fatigue seemed to flow through his veins, spreading itself throughout his entire body.

"So, do you want me to drive you home?" said J.T. politely, but all of them saw through to the meaning of his words. It was a thinly veiled inquiry as to which of them she had chosen. It was such an intrusion, in Kevin's opinion, to ask Mac to make a decision like that at a time like this. Then again, he could appreciate the younger man's logic. This was something they all had to know, something that could affect them all for the rest of their lives. Maybe there was no use temporizing, when it was only prolonging the inevitable.

"J.T.," Mac said, and Kevin's heart sunk. Then he realized that she had started talking again, and Kevin felt a ray of hope that he knew was most likely fallacious. Suddenly his arms felt awkward and useless, and, not knowing what to do with them, he jammed them into the pockets of his jeans. His hands still felt like a clumsy addition to his body that he had only recently realized, in a moment of insight, were uncomfortable to have attached to him. He started to pull a loose thread out from the inside of his pocket. The moment seemed to be passing in excruciatingly slow motion. Mac's voice was even. "You've been a great friend to me. You were always there for me when I needed someone. But… well… all of a sudden, when I needed you most, you weren't there. It was like you had abandoned me."

"Mac, I'm sorry! I didn't know!" exclaimed Justin.

"J.T., listen. It's not just that. When we were apart, I was thinking. When we were friends it worked out fine just for both of us. We were both happy, and supportive of each other, etcetera. But as soon as we got closer, things just didn't work out. I guess friends is as far as it can safely go with us."

"'Safely go'? Mac, love isn't about safety! It's about the feeling you experience when you're around the person you love. It's about wanting to be together, even when things are hard and the odds are against us!"

"But J.T…. I don't feel that way around you. I really like you, and I'll be the first to admit you're attractive, but when we were together I always felt like I needed something more. And then I'd feel bad for thinking that, and I'd tell myself that we could really have something good if I could just accept that what we had already was as good as it gets. Maybe I'm not making much sense… but I don't love you J.T.. Not like I love Kevin." A few droplets of tears clung to Mac's eyelashes. For a brief moment, it occurred to J.T. that it looked like stars were falling out of her eyes.

It seemed like Justin wasn't going to answer. Kevin felt completely awkward just standing around, but at the same time knew he had every right to be there. Mac loved him. Everything was perfect in his world. "Okay," J.T. finally said, his voice soft. It seemed to him that if he spoke louder, his voice would break, both literally and figuratively.

"J.T.." said Mac. Her voice had an almost pleading quality to it, even though what she said was neither a question nor really a statement. It was just a name.

"Look, I should probably just go," said J.T., standing up and walking towards the door. No one made any move to stop him. He reached a hand out to open to turn the doorknob, closing his fingers around the cold metal. Suddenly, he drew back his hand and wheeled around. "Just promise me one thing, will ya Mac?" he asked abruptly.

"Depends what it is," she replied, unfazed.

"Promise me you'll be happy."

"I promise."

Kevin felt like he was riding on an emotion that transcended ecstasy.

--VvV—

Scott Fenmore awoke from a troubled sleep to the sight of a fuscia-and-lilac watercolor-esque sunrise and groaned. He felt normal, which nowadays was synonymous to completely awful. He closed his eyes tightly, rolled over, buried his head in his pillow, and tried to get back to sleep. Sure, if he succeeded he would have nightmares, but on the bright side they would make no sense whatsoever, and he would forget them upon waking. But the moment his conscious mind took over, he knew he would have to face something much worse than a nightmare. It made no sense, but people expected him to explain it. The things he remembered were of no use, and he couldn't protect himself from that constant nagging voice in his head, telling him that maybe- just maybe- if he had paid more attention to things, he would be able to help find Brenda.

But every time he thought about her, his thoughts took him to a dead end.

Dead end. Dead. End. Dead dead dead. End end end.

_They don't know where she is. Maybe she's fine. _For Scott, not knowing was the worst part. If he allowed himself the optimism of thinking she was fine, he would feel guilty about giving himself false hope. If he found himself fearing the worse, he would reprimand himself for being such a pessimist. Either way, he was screwed.

Brenda wasn't the type who would want Scott not to worry about her. That was the weird thing about her, but it made her seem more real to Scott. She was obviously no ordinary woman. She was the type who would want Scott to miss her and try to find her, not simply get on with his own life. If she came back on her own, Scott was sure that the first thing she would do would be yell at him for not being to one to find her. She was usually a calm, nice person, but sometimes she reacted oddly to things. Maybe the quirkiness was what drew him to her, like a moth to a bug-zapper. She brought a spark to his life when things seemed to be getting too bland to bear.

He made himself get up, swearing that he would find something to do to distract himself. He pulled on a pair of light-colored chinos that were strewn on the floor beside his bed. Things had gotten so messy in his room that he couldn't see the floor anymore.

He walked into the main part of the hotel room, the floor pleasantly cool on his bare feet. He poured himself a cup of coffee and spooned sugar into the warm beverage. He needed all the energy he could get, from any source possible.

He opened the refrigerator with one hand, the other holding some notices that had been slid under his door- nothing but bills and announcements. Then Scott realized that there was nothing in the entire place to eat for breakfast, and he sighed.

--VvV—

Gloria Abbot was talking animatedly on her cell phone while simultaneously scrawling on a notepad with a neon pink marker, when a bing-bong sound caught her attention. "I'll have to call you back," she said hurriedly, rushing over excitedly to answer the door. But as soon as the door was open and she stood gazing at the person standing there, the hope that had flooded into her heart had dissipated.

"Mrs. Abbot?" asked the boy. Well, the man, technically he was too old to be called a boy, but not by much. He appeared to be in his early twenties, and had short spiked black hair and thick green rimmed glasses with a pink tint to the lenses. He seemed to be slightly above average height, but then Gloria took note of the platform shoes he was wearing. Judging by his clothes, he had borrowed his grandfather's suit and made his own tie by cutting up his grandmother's polka dot dress.

"Yes, that would be me," she said, hoping her gulp wasn't audible.

"Gloria? Who's at the door?" called a voice from upstairs in the mansion.

"John, come down here. I'd like you to meet someone," she called back.

Within moments, her husband was standing beside her, looking at the man- boy- guy with bemusement. "John, remember when you said that you were upset about how things were being run at the City Hospital?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued. "Well, I thought "Now, if we could somehow make people aware of how things have to change there, then they would have to improve the quality of service they provide." So, I did some research, and met… this man, over the internet. He's a director of documentaries." Gloria couldn't quite remember the kid's name. It had seemed like a flawless idea over the computer, but now that she had met him, things looked a lot less promising.

"Name's Randall Adler-Park. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Abbot," said the director, extending a hand. John took it, and was surprised to notice Randall had a firm handshake.

"Why, same to you," said John. Turning to Gloria, he asked "Why didn't you tell me about this?" He didn't sound angry but did sound flummoxed.

"Well, I wanted to surprise you," she said. That too had seemed like a better idea until now.

"Er," murmured Randall, as though he couldn't decide whether to say something or not.

"Oh, come in," said John. He sounded sincere, which relieved Gloria. He couldn't be too angry. Besides, what could he have to be upset about? He was the one who wanted to make changes to the way the hospital was working.

She assessed her situation, coming to the conclusion that there was nothing she could do but wait until later to find out John's thoughts on her actions. For now, she fully intended to just go with the flow. "Here, Randall- may I call you that?" she said, handing him her notepad.

"Thanks. Sure," he said, sounding indifferent to what she was saying to him, but his eyes hungrily running over the magenta words she had written. "This is good. Yeah, I can do this," he said, not bothering to look up from the page. "Do you have a phone?" he asked suddenly, after a long pause that gave Gloria the impression that he had forgotten her and John were there.

"Yes, why?" asked Gloria, handing him her cell phone.

"I need to call my assistants and tell them to meet us at the hospital." Noticing the Abbot's surprised expressions he said, "Oh, we're going there to investigate."

"Shouldn't we call ahead and tell them we're coming?" asked John.

"No," said Randall with a mischievous smile. "We want to catch them off guard."


	13. The Lifestyle

The Darkness Within Her Eyes

Chapter 13

The Lifestyle

Author's Note: Okay, first of all I am SO sorry that it took me so long to write this. I've been really busy with school and when I had free time I got too depressed to really do anything. Then I went on vacation with no computer access. Please accept my apologies for the delay, I am back to writing now. Thank you habbohotty and SilverBlackWolf13 for your reviews, and I hope you are still reading this fic after the long wait. As per your suggestions, this chapter focuses heavily on Sheila/Brenda.

Just a random factoid, I am basically one of the hippy type artists described near the end of this chapter.

-V-v-V-

"Brenda." The man spoke the word in a cold, emotionless voice. His dark eyes darted up from his computer screen, the reflections of pixels making them look like the sky before a thunderstorm, ominous and charged. His entire demeanor was an anomaly: there was a sort of sophistication to his sloppy appearance, as though every askew longish brown hair had been arranged that way for some profoundly significant purpose that would be evident momentarily. His skin was pale and he looked a bit underweight, like he was the type who'd get so absorbed in his work he'd forget or just not bother to eat regularly. Without his strange eyes, he would look, on the whole, nearly entirely unremarkable, and it was only the intelligence and electricity in them that made him seem so imposing. Well, that and the fact that he somehow managed to remain unsurprised despite a woman breaking and entering his house with him in it. "Or are you still going by that name?"

"So you've seen the news than?" Sheila Carter asked conversationally. She looked around herself almost casually, taking in all the details: An old-looking piano, mahogany carpeting, and a window partially hidden behind pure-white drapes, the bright sun and clear, ridiculously blue sky just barely visible.

"No, I've been living under a rock," he replied with biting sarcasm. "Sheila, dear? You are single-handedly responsible for attracting both the press and the FBI to Genoa City."

"I suppose I am quite attractive," she remarked dryly. She slowly traced a finger along his collarbone as though to prove his point.

"This isn't the time," he moaned, and though he looked uncomfortable he didn't make any move to stop her.

Suddenly he flinched. "Sheila… this city's not that far from Genoa. The police, the FBI, they could have tracked you. I can't have them coming here." He looked up purposely to meet her eyes, and she looked back at him without once dropping her icy comportment. "There's enough stuff in this room, never mind this whole operation, to put me – and several of my clients – away for life."

"Thankfully, I'm not one of _those _clients," said the woman cryptically.

As though he was used to these odd remarks, the man simply repeated, "Just tell me you weren't followed."

When she spoke, a twinge of annoyance was evident in Sheila's voice. And as per reputation, Sheila Carter could kill over a twinge. " Do you think I'm stupid?" she spat, "I took precautions, I wasn't followed." And suddenly she chuckled. "Wow, it really appears I've committed the perfect crime. What a lifestyle."

The exact thoughts to go through the mind of the man - who sometimes went by the name of Todd Bartholemews or Evan Wickerson or (his current personal favorite) Donovan Black – were _What a lifestyle indeed. Having to listen to hyperdramatic loose cannons like you is one of those joys most people never get a chance to experience in their careers. _Out loud he said," Okay, I see your point. You would have the sense to make sure they didn't track you, I wasn't thinking straight." He may have been reckless and sarcastic by nature, but he didn't have a deathwish and had enough street smarts to know not to say the first things to come into his mind around her.

Sheila began speaking again almost before the words were out of his mouth. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy seeing him belittle himself like this, but she had things to do and this was delaying her schedule. She had a lot of business to catch up on. "Hush," she said simply. He hushed. "Now, on to business."

"Very well." His otherwise mundane mouth spread into a demonic grin and his dark eyes glinted sharply. "Who do you want me to make you?"

-V-v-V-

Hours later, a shot rang out in the outskirts of Las Vegas. Several more hours passed before a nervous teenage boy of no particular importance finally worked up the courage to press the cold metal buttons, numbered with peeling paint on the neighborhood payphone as 9 and 1, to report a homicide, having finally convinced himself that if he reported it they wouldn't connect him with the incident. It was a silly fear – he could just report it anonymously – but he was a silly boy in many ways.

It was night by the time CSIs had pinpointed the scene of the crime.

Nicholas Stokes surveyed the scene. **POLICE LINE – DO NOT CROSS** was written in heavy bold letters on yellow plastic tape surrounding a house with flaking white paint and dirt-smeared windows. In fact, he couldn't even see into the windows. At first he thought this was because of the dark, but upon further inspection he realized the blinds were closed inside the house. Well, only one way to see what was in there; he made his way towards the door with long loping strides.

Oddly, the condition of the house didn't stand out that much – it looked almost identical to all the other buildings on the block. This place had a reputation as a poor, high crime neighborhood, and it definitely seemed to be living up to that reputation tonight. A group of young people had been gathered around the house but scattered like cockroaches once they saw the flashing blue and red lights of LVPD police cars. And althought Nick didn't really like to see kids running from the police, this was looking pretty routine as homicides went.

Until the Texan opened the door, that is. Finding it locked was the first surprise – who would bother to shoot a guy and then lock up behind themselves? It seemed too polite for a murderer, almost like they were toying with him. This suspicion was pretty much confirmed when Nick was able to locate the key immediately – right there on the welcome mat at his feet. This had a definite Enter-at-your-own-risk feel to it. As he inserted the key and turned, the door opened with unnerving ease. He shone his flashlight over the room.

This guy didn't look to have been poor. There was a big high-def TV, a baby grand piano, and some nice furniture even if it was a bit cluttered. The newest model of laptop computer was perched on a coffee table. The screensaver was on the display and for a moment Nick just paused and stared transfixed at the multicoloured fireworks on the screen.

Then he saw the body. The man was young, age approximately 25 just from a look at him. Caucasian. Cause of death: gunshot to the head. In the beam of the flashlight, Nick saw a pool of blood, glistening black with a crimson sheen to it, surrounding the man's head. A rookie sucked in a sharp breath at the sight. "Yeah," Nick said sadly, "people can be brutal."

The gun was right there beside the computer on the table. Well, he couldn't be certain it was The Gun, the murder weapon, but he didn't doubt it. He was now pretty certain this was one of those killers, the ones who liked to play games as though they thought the world was their sick horror movie. As a few CSIs snapped photos of the victim, the blood, and just the place in general, Nick got on his knees and began to search the victim for ID. There was a wallet in the pocket of his jeans and when Nick unfolded the cracked rough leather, he saw yet another really weird thing. "What the _hell?_"

There was ID. In fact, there were dozens of ID cards. No two remotely similar.

-V-v-V-

Until now, Justin Todd Helstrom had never fully understood the allure of the glorious shoddiness of bars. Not the type of bars where people went to drink cocktails and discuss business ventures, or the kind where privileged rich kids went to hang out with their friends to celebrate their big two-one, but actual _bars. _The kind where there was always at least one guy crying into his beer in the corner and a burly hairy guy named Mike - or Andy in this case - stood behind the counter and asked if you wanted to talk about it, and one drank copious amounts of the mind altering substance not for its taste (which was really quite horrible in this instance) but to escape from reality.

Nope, J.T. had definitely never understood why people would want to be here. Until now.

Technicaly, it wasn't entirely accurate to say he understood why. He really had no clue why he wanted to be here. Actually, he wasn't even quite clear on how he had found this place. After Mac had dumped him for that _creep _Fisher, everything had been kind of a blur. All he knew was that he was here and he wanted to drink way, way too much. Screw good judgement, responsibility, moving on. Why couldn't everything just stay a blur?

A pleasant alky-hol blur. Which it would be if not for that crying guy in the corner, and the knowledge that his head would feel like it was stuffed with elephants playing the bagpipes next morning (He chuckled briefly and drunkenly at an amusing mental picture), and, perhaps most annoying of all, the knowledge that _Fisher _was with _his _girl. Mac.

But dammit, he came here to forget about that.

What else could he concentrate on? There were those pretty dots in front of his eyes… but they kept moving around and it was making him dizzy. His stomach contents seemed to be swirling around, and that wasn't helping. He really couldn't hold his alcohol well. _I really should practice binge drinking more often, _thought J.T., only half sarcastically. Crying guy's sobs were making his head hurt… _Someone really should tell that_ _guy to leave. _

Then it came. The welcome distraction. Actually, it probably isn't polite to refer to Victoria Newman as "it."

The lone female in this place, she literally turned heads as she entered, and there probably would have been whistles and catcalls if it wasn't so obvious she was a no-nonsense person. Her shoes clicked against the scratched hardwood floor with each step and she wore the poker-face of a sophisticated person who'd just been through a lot and no they do _not _want to talk about it.

And she plunked herself down on the stool right next to J.T.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, and was pleased with himself when the words came out hardly slurred at all, although he wished he'd had a better line on hand.

Victoria – he knew her name, she was in the papers all the time – laughed softly but bitterly. "Yeah. Yeah, that would be good, thanks. Sorry, but who are you again?"

"J.T. Helstrom. I… I dated Mrs. Chancellor's granddaughter. I guess that's what I was best known for." Man, why had he added that last part? Couldn't he have just said his name and left it at that?

"J.T.," Victoria repeated, as though trying it out. "Yeah, I've heard of you. Jacob Todd, right?"

"Justin."

"Oh, sorry," she said, obviously not _too _sorry.

"It's fine. You were closer than most people. I guess that's why they call me J.T. – no one can really remember my real name."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll remember it now," said Victoria, and her voice sounded honest although as sophisticated as always. You could tell she was an artist. Not the hippy type of artist you saw downtown at festivals, but the really educated, good with people type. And still fiery and opinionated. He loved watching the way the shadows of the flickering light danced across her face. The lighting in this place was pretty harsh, but she managed to pull it off, the angular, elegant planes of her face highlighted, emphasized. Just beautiful. Her dark eyes with what he could tell was an interesting mind behind them, her hair that he bet would be soft if he touched it.

"Really?" he asked in what he hoped was a cool, suave voice.

"Sure. You seem like quite a memorable guy," she said with an enigmatic smile.


	14. Complications

The Darkness Within Her Eyes

Part 2

Chapter 14

Complications

…

I would like to thank habbohotty for the review. Here's chapter 14.

…

"I think we should postpone the wedding."

"What?" exclaimed Michael, taken aback. "Lauren, where did this come from?" He inadvertently laughed in his edginess.

His wife let out a sigh and brushed a few strands of her beautiful light-colored hair out of her eyes. "I… it's just, I saw Scott today…"

"Go on," encouraged Michael. The couple was at Michael's office, his workday having just ended. He had been pleasantly surprised when he saw Lauren come in. He loved every minute he was around her and it always gave his mood a boost when she came to see him here. But this time was different; all he could feel was worry. He waited in anticipation for her explanation.

"I went to the supermarket to pick up some groceries, and he was there. He looks terrible, Michael. Like he hasn't been taking care of himself since Brenda disappeared."

"Did you talk to him?" said Michael.

"Yeah, I did. I talked to him, asked how he was doing. He says he's fine, but I can tell he's _not. _Michael… I don't want to have this wedding when my own son won't be able to enjoy it. I think… I really think we should postpone it until Brenda's found, or at least until he has a chance to get over her." Lauren pleaded. "G-d, I sound so awful."

"You don't," said Michael, fiercely defending her against her own allegations. "But are you sure that when they do find her, it won't be… you know, something bad?" he asked as gently as he could.

Lauren shook her head. "Not knowing is worse. When Scott was taken away from me, all I could do was agonize. I couldn't even work on getting over it because of the possibility he was somehow all right. And it turns out that… he was," concluded Lauren. Michael saw there were tears in her eyes.

He pulled his fiancé into an embrace. "Hey, it's all right. We can wait if you want to."

"Thank you," Lauren murmured into his shoulder.

- V – v – V –

"Yes! The wedding is on!" Kevin cheered, punching the air triumphantly as he entered the apartment. "That place we wanted, the one that was all booked up, had a last minute cancellation!"

"Hey, great!" said Mackenzie. Kevin put his arms around her and kissed her.

"I know, I am so stoked. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you," said Kevin.

"Well, you know what they say. 'Today is the first day of the rest of your life,'" quoted Mac.

"And I totally agree with them. So, what say you and I celebrate by going out for dinner?"

"You know what? That sounds wonderful. What time?"

"How about… oh, now?"

Mac laughed. "It's two in the afternoon!"

"Then we'll go out for lunch," reasoned Kevin.

"We just had lunch!"

"Okay. Then how about we go sightsee, catch a movie, and _then _go out for dinner?"

Mac grinned at him. "Sounds like a plan."

V – v – V –

J.T. was surprised not to feel as bad as he expected the next morning. He knew he'd been drinking last night, but his head hurt much less than it usually did in the few instances where he'd had a hangover before. His eyes were closed but he could tell the sun was up from the light coming through his eyelids. He must have somehow gotten home, because he could tell from the feel of them that these were his own blankets over him. He hoped he hadn't driven himself.

He could hear someone breathing softly next to him, could feel her body heat. Mac, thought J.T. She must have found him somehow and saved him from drinking too much. What a wonderful morning. It didn't matter how she'd found him, just that she did and now she was back. He always knew she would be.

He longed for the feel of her soft hair, her smooth skin. He gently reached out towards her.

She felt different somehow. Was it just his imagination or was her hair longer, her skin a slightly different texture? He cracked open an eye.

This wasn't Mac. This was a tan, dark-haired woman with elegant, angular features.

This was Victoria Newman.

All at once, last night started coming back to him, rushing through all his senses.

He could feel that headache coming on.

V – v – V –

Sara Sidle stepped out of the taxi, quickly followed by Gil Grissom and Catherine Willows. It was a pleasant, warm day outside the Genoa City airport, and there were people everywhere. Some were travelers, lugging large suitcases along, but others were just out enjoying the day. She and her coworkers fit into the traveler category, although the day could certainly be enjoyable. She wished she could just spend it outside instead of shuffling around between airports and planes.

Still, it would be nice to get back to work. She loved her job, it meant so much to her to be able to help people. With a pang of guilt she recalled Mr. Abbott's request. She wished she could have done something to help him, he seemed like a nice guy. Maybe just by doing her job it would help him out by extension, she had seen a lot of related crimes that turned out to be related to each other before.

Okay, it was unlikely, but it was a comforting thought, and why couldn't she indulge herself just once?

She was standing at the crosswalk with her suitcase beside her, waiting for the traffic to slow and trying not to think about Mr. Abbott, when all hell broke lose.

A tall slim man with long dreadlocks and chocolate-colored skin suddenly came running towards her, straight out into the traffic-filled street. He was waving his arms around himself as he ran in a mad sprint. Sara watched, absolutely paralyzed as a car nearly hit him, but he forward rolled onto the pavement and missed it by a hair's breadth.

Was this guy crazy? He was going to get killed!

Even though that spill must have been painful, he was barely down for a moment before he was up and running again. That must be quite the adrenaline rush, thought Sara.

She soon saw why. The sound of rapid-fire gunshots assailed her ears, and she saw the windows of a car shatter where the running man's head had been moments before. Was the driver all right? She thought, panicking. She had been in dangerous situations before, but this just wasn't something people could get used to. At least, she sort of hoped they couldn't become that desensitized.

She forced herself to breath, try and calm down. The exercise helped a bit, and she no longer felt completely paralyzed.

Against all odds, the man somehow made it across the street. She couldn't see what happened to him after than, because the shooter soon followed. The flow of traffic had stopped completely and the figure made it across unhindered. All sound had drained out of her world, but the rhythm of the shooter's steps he or she ran seemed to pulse through her veins. Everything had gone into extremely detailed slow motion, almost like she could see the pixels of the world. She saw the shooter was male, a skinny white guy with short brown hair and clad in baggy camouflage pants and a grey hoodie. He looked almost as terrified as Sara felt. His whiter-than-white running shoes bounced against the greyer-than-grey pavement, like in a photo with enhanced color and contrast. He raised the gun and it glinted in the sunlight, sending white knifelike flashes out in all directions. The assailant grasped the deadly weapon in both hands…

"GET DOWN!" roared Grissom, just as the trigger was pulled and the gun went off loudly; sound coming back into her world all at once. She ducked, saw the shooter leap into the air and up onto the curb…

And she lunged forward, tackling him to the ground. He came down hard on the pavement, and his lack of struggling indicated he was most likely unconscious. Not wanting to take any risk, Sara grabbed the gun from where it had skidded onto the sidewalk and unloaded it before stuffing it into her pocket. _Damn, I just tampered with the evidence without even thinking about it, _she thought numbly. That somehow didn't seem of very high priority at the moment.

She had the shooter's hands behind his back and a knee pressing down on his back. She was probably hurting him, but that too seemed of little importance. Considering what she'd been through as a child, it was hard to feel any sympathy for people who would do such terrible things to others, even if they didn't succeed.

"They came to get me! They killed Dono and now they've come to get me!" It was the dark-skinned man talking. Sara saw that Grissom and Catherine were each holding one of his arms to restrain him, in case he tried to make a break for it. But at the moment, he seemed completely paralyzed with shock, with the exception of his hands, which made wild gesticulations as he talked. His eyes were wide and he was shaking visibly. "I'm dead, they're going to get me. You can't escape them…"

"Sir, try to calm down," Catherine advised him.

"Calm down! I'm going to die, how can I be calm about that?" he rambled.

"Do you know who the people after you are?" said Grissom.

"I know they want me dead, that's what I know!" The man whipped his head around, his dreadlocks flying about as his panicked eyes took in his surroundings.

"Can you tell me your name?" Grissom asked, voice calming.

"James Lavonne," the man said, seeming a bit less panicked. "That guy unconscious?" He pointed to the man Sara had pinned to the ground.

"Yeah, he's totally out of it," Sara informed him.

"Okay. Good." Lavonne let out a deep sigh. "I'm alive."

"Was this gang related?" inquired Grissom.

Lavonne actually looked offended. "Oh, that's mature of you," he said, voice dripping sarcasm. "I'm a black guy so I must be in a gang."

"I was judging not by the color of your skin but by the amount of people who want you dead," countered Grissom.

Lavonne said, "The answer's still no, I never had anything to do with gangs. Sorta a miracle considering where I grew up. When I was a kid, my parents had tons of kids so they din' really look after me that much. We were poor, y'know? I spent a lot of time with my best friend and his folks, they were more like my family then my real one. Then this one day I'm over there, and we hear all this noise coming from out in the front yard. We run out just in time to see my friend's older brother get knifed. He was, like, my role model. He looked after us. And he just _died _on the way to the hospital." Sara could see his eyes were starting to tear up. "I swore I wouldn't ever have that life for myself. I did well in school, got scholarships and tried not to get into fights. I'm a teacher now, perfectly respectable. But still with really cool hair." He smiled sadly. "Guess I still couldn't get free from all that danger. Even Dono got taken away from me."

"We'll do everything in our power to protect you and get to the bottom of this," Catherine said seriously.

Lavonne snorted. "You cops have never been much help to me before."

"We're not cops. We're crime scene investigators," said Grissom.

"Albeit off duty at the moment," acknowledged Catherine.

"C'mon, Cath. Don't you realize "off duty crime scene investigator" is an oxymoron?" quipped Sara.

V – v – V –

Sheila hummed to herself. She was in an absolutely wonderful mood right now. It just felt so _good _to be back in Genoa City. Lauren and Michael's wedding was just a week and a half away, and everything was going according to plan. There were only two people who could possibly be able to track her down. One of them was dead, and the other was on his way to joining him. Unless those hired killers really messed up, which she doubted; she'd taken precautions to avoid that. Best of all, with all the steps she had taken, as soon as he was dead she would be completely untraceable.

And James Lavonne was as good as dead.


	15. Data Age

The Darkness Within Her Eyes

Chapter 15

Data Age

- V – v – V –

But according to the laws of Genoa city, there was such a thing as an off-duty crime scene investigator, and Grissom, Sara, and Catherine, as well as James, were quickly escorted away for questioning by several burly security guards. "But we were just in the middle of interrogating Lavonne," protested Sara.

One of the guards shook him head. "Not your job," he said simply.

"It _is _my job!"

"Not right now," he replied. The calmness in his tone further irked Sara, and she was about to say something when Catherine put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"He's right, Sara, we'll have to wait. Hopefully we can get this cleared up soon and get to the bottom of this mess," said Catherine. Her voice was soothing, but not the least bit condescending. Sara relaxed a bit despite herself.

- V – v – V –

_It could have been worse, _thought J.T. It could have been Mike. That would have left a lot more questions to take care of.

He liked Victoria, right? She was interesting and intelligent and, he had to admit, hot. He had to start getting over Mac at some point, and wasn't Victoria the perfect way to take his mind off her? He'd have to talk to her, get this all sorted out…

He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew Victoria was no longer beside him. Slipping on a pair of jeans that lay crumpled at the foot of his bed, he began to search for her. She didn't take long to locate, sitting at a chain in the kitchen reading the paper with a disinterested expression as a pan of fried eggs sizzled atop the stove. She wore the same dress as yesterday, slightly less crisp but hardly disheveled. J.T. had no idea why or how he noticed this. Bright sunlight was streaming in through the open curtains, warming his skin and silhouetting Victoria, forming sort of a halo type thing around her now-slightly-frizzy-but-still-surprisingly-neat hair.

"You're a morning person," he stated, and she looked up from her reading.

"Oh, good morning," she said pleasantly. "I trust you slept well."

"Yeah, um… so what now?"

Victoria smiled bemusedly at him. "What do you mean?"

"You know, what comes next?"

"We go on with our lives, of course," answered Victoria.

"You mean… not see each other anymore?" said J.T.

Victoria sighed. "J.T., last night was fun. I enjoyed it. But it was a one-time thing. We don't have to make things any more complicated than they already are: I've got Brad Carlton and you've got Mackenzie."

J.T. shook his head. "Mac and I… we broke up."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

She didn't sound very sorry to J.T.'s ears, but he continued. "Yeah, I screwed up big time, and now she's seeing someone else. What happened between you and Brad?"

For just a fraction of a second, Victoria's cool, impassive expression dropped, replaced by a startled expression. Then it was gone. "He too screwed up big time, as you so eloquently put it. Anyway, we weren't exclusive, we were both allowed to see other people… as he demonstrated to me yesterday, in fact."

"Sorry," said J.T. Then it occurred to him. "Hey, so since you're allowed, can I invite you out to dinner this evening?"

To his surprise, Victoria smiled and replied, "You know, I'd like that very much J.T."

- V – v – V –

"Okay, just put your foot right here."

"Here?"

"Yeah, that's perfect. Now take a step up?"

"Right now?"

"Uh huh."

"Okay…"

"Go ahead, just step."

"I'm not sure, it doesn't feel steady…"

"Take my hand, I'll help you."

"Okay… whoa! I'm up! Wow… Kevin, it's beautiful."

Kevin grinned at her. "I knew you'd like it. Probably never been anywhere like here before, right?"

"Hey, I go lots of cool places! Is that how you see me, boring stay-at-home Mac who's never trespassed on city property before?" Mackenzie asked, mock-offended.

Kevin laughed softly. "Believe me, I've never thought of you as boring."

"Seriously though, this is really cool."

Kevin breathed deeply, allowing the cool fresh air to fill his lungs. He felt a surge of pride upon hearing that Mac was pleased with the results of their trip. He had come here often by himself, but taking Mac with him today had been on a whim.

Kevin had suggested they see the city in a "different way" and Mac, intrigued, had allowed him to pick the first place. Kevin had led her to the alley behind the building where he used to go for therapy, to an apparent dead end. He had knelt down on the oily black asphalt and allowed Mackenzie to use him as a step in order to climb over a dilapidated fence covered in peeling brown paint. Once she was over, he had scaled it himself, slightly less elegantly than he had anticipated. She'd laughed at his efforts when he scrambled down, but he didn't mind – he loved to hear her melodious laugh, even at his own expense.

From there, the couple walked over a stretch of lush green grass with the wild, natural look of a lawn that had never been cut, a few dew drops miraculously intact despite it being the late afternoon. There were no houses in view; in fact, if Mac didn't know what lay behind them, she would have thought there had never been any human activity in the vicinity. Even the sky seemed bigger, an amazing entity in and of itself. There were a few good-sized leafy trees providing shade, but most of the vegetation was composed of different varieties of grass in varying shades of green, and some small shrubs, including what looked like wild roses and strawberries. A few insects hummed around her, occasionally taking flight utilizing large colorful wings. It took her a moment to recognize them as grasshoppers, for they seemed so different than in the city. Not merely pests, but strange creatures with an untamed, otherworldly sort of beauty. She was surprised that the freak snowfall a few weeks ago hadn't killed them all.

As they progressed, Mackenzie realized she was not seeing the horizon ahead, the wilderness stretching on infinitely as she had somehow assumed, despite knowing Genoa City like a friend she'd had all her life. But now she was seeing another side of that friend, a more personal, intimate dimension. The ground was slanted upwards, a not very steep hill. As they reached the zenith, Kevin pointed, directing her gaze to what appeared to be a pile of stones and metal. Drawing closer, she realized that was indeed what it was.

"What is this?" she had asked. The structure, if it could be called such, had clearly been made for some purpose. There had to be some motivation for assembling a massive pile of large boulders, at least three times her height, and fusing them together with molten metal, right?

Kevin shrugged. "Some sort of abstract statue, I think. I don't know what for, and since no one really comes here there's no one to ask. Not that I mind really; I sort of like having this place to myself." With that, he had begun to ascend the mysterious monument.

Now at the top, Mackenzie had to admit the difficult climb had been well worth the pulse-pounding effort. The view could only be described as spectacular. The panorama displayed a bird's eye view of almost the entire city sprawled out before her, like a model posing for a painter. Depending on which way she faced, she could see the way they had come, with its wild plants and birds and dragonflies and grasshoppers, or what lay ahead: apartment buildings, clubs already flashing their neon signs despite it still being broad daylight, factories emitting plumes of dark steel-colored smoke. And then there was the area where it looked like both worlds, however unlikely, had managed to achieved a tentative balance: A long slim paved path, a recently painted yellow line dividing it in two, provided a place for joggers, bikers, and rollerbladers to enjoy themselves as they sped along in the warm sun on this unlikely warm day. It was hard to believe that mere weeks ago Genoa City had its first snowfall of the year. It was as if that day had been erased from history.

There were even a few people simply walking, though they looked to be in a hurry. Beside the path was the Genoa City hospital, so perhaps they were employees there, on their way to another day of work. Or visitors? If they had bothered to raise their faces to the sky, the pedestrians would have noticed they were being observed by two figures perched atop the bizarre statue, but none of them bothered to look up.

One of the figures caught her eye and it took her a few seconds to process what she was seeing. "Hey, Kevin?" she said, turning to her fiancé.

Turning to meet her gaze, Kevin responded, "Huh? Yeah?"

"Isn't that your brother down there?" She pointed to the figure, traversing the footpath with brisk but dignified strides.

"I'm not sure," said Kevin, quickly looking away.

"I'm pretty sure that's him. Yes, positive actually. What's wrong?"

Kevin could tell Mac was concerned. She was one of those people whose voices always betrayed their emotions, not that Mac ever had any need to hide anything. Unlike Kevin, she was everlastingly innocent, her concern causing his own shame to surface and wreak havoc on his insides like a swarm of boa constrictors. He knew he had a dilemma. He didn't want to lie to Mac, wanted so badly for her to trust him, but she knew that was Michael down there…

"My brother and I… we got into a bit of an argument a few days ago," he responded, truthfully enough.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Kev. Do you mind if I ask what about?"

"No, I actually can't remember." Did she buy that? Kevin couldn't tell, probably because each time he tried to make eye contact with her for more than a second at a time he found himself instinctively jerking away, a long time give-away of his. Did she know that?

At any rate, she let it drop. Instead, she proposed, "Maybe we should go talk to him. He is your brother, and you two are pretty close, right? You'll regret it if you don't invite him to our wedding, and if you can't even remember what the argument was about, it can't have been that important." Mac paused. "Sorry, I'm butting in. Just forget I said anything."

"No. No, you're not butting in, I mean. You're right. I should just go talk to him. I'll go do that now." Kevin spoke with the awkwardness and determination of a person trying to convince themselves of the truthfulness of their own words. He scrambled to the ground with an agile combination of jumps before running through the thick grass to meet his brother. Mac, significantly less experienced at this sort of thing, climbed down more carefully but was not far behind Kevin. "Yo! Michael!" Kevin called.

Michael looked up, taking in his brother and then Mac. "Hello," he acknowledged noncommittally.

"Michael, Kevin and I have something to tell you," announced Mac. She elbowed the suddenly dumbstruck Kevin.

"Yeah, uh… Michael," Kevin managed to get out. He paused, then all in one breath explained, "Mackenzie and I have decided to get married. Will you come to our wedding?"

Michael stood stock-still, as dumbstruck as Kevin had been seconds before. Mac caught a fleeting glimpse of family resemblance. Finally, the elder sibling enunciated, "Congratulations, both of you. Mackenzie, would it be all right if I were to speak to Kevin privately for a moment?"

"Oh, right, of course," apologized Mac, though she wasn't quite sure what she was sorry about. She took a seat at the base of the statue, feeling the cool metal through the fabric of her shirt. She couldn't hear a thing aside from birdsongs and insect calls.

Unfortunately for Kevin, his ears quite clearly received the auditory rendition of Michael's wrath. "What were you thinking?" the man exclaimed. "Marriage? With what you're going through?"

"Hey, you haven't always been so clean cut yourself!" snapped Kevin. Michael's face froze, like he'd been stung by a vicious insect and couldn't quite make sense of what had happened yet. "Sorry," Kevin quickly added, his voice a mumble.

"No… you're right," said Michael. His voice was soft too. "Do you love her?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes. Michael, I've never felt like this about anybody before," Kevin answered without hesitation.

Michael nodded.

"And, I'm trying to change. I was doing therapy, and… it really did help. I was better. Not perfect, but a bit better…" He trailed off; Michael's eyes had taken on a far away look and Kevin wasn't sure he was listening.

"I really don't know what you should do about this, Kevin. I just… I don't know. Maybe you could start doing therapy again, see a doctor. Just… don't hurt her, okay?"

"Of course I'd never hurt her. No matter what," said Kevin fiercely. "I'd rather die than let anything happen to her."

"Hopefully no one will be doing any dying for a while."

"Yeah."

They stood there in silence for a while. Kevin wasn't sure about his brother, but he himself was listening to the sounds around them: the rustling of grass in the breeze, the rhythmic hammering of joggers' feet against the hard pavement. He felt he had suddenly put down an enormous weight and only now was the effort he'd expended transporting it begun to catch up with him, leaving him too exhausted to do anything but listen.

Michael broke the silence. "Congratulations, Kevin." He sounded as exhausted as Kevin felt.

"I'd better get back to Mac," said Kevin. He glanced to Michael, but his brother made no move to stop him so Kevin turned his back and started walking.

"Kevin?" Michael's voice was so quiet, rustling like the blades of grass, that Kevin thought he had imagined it.

"What is it?"

"Lauren and I are going out for dinner with Scott. He hasn't been well ever since Brenda… you know. You're friends with him, right?"

"Me and Scott? We've talked a few times. Cool guy," said Kevin.

"It might take his mind of it if you were to be there. I'm sure Lauren wouldn't mind, so… you coming?" invited Michael.

"Sure. Yes, I'd like that very much," answered Kevin, grinning. Michael smiled back. "Oh, but I'd better ask Mac first."

"You do that," said Michael, watching as his brother ran, shrinking into the distance. He had to admit, Kevin really did care about Mackenzie. If there was any justice in this world, that would have to count for something.

And the whole reason he had become a lawyer was to bring a small bit of justice into this world.


	16. Superstar

The Darkness Within Her Eyes

Chapter 16

Superstar

-V-v-V-

"Sir, can I get your opinion on this scandalous issue?" Michael stumbled backwards as the strangely dressed man thrust a microphone into his face. A few people with huge cameras milled about, taking footage of seemingly random objects.

"_What?" _said Michael, regaining his balance.

"I said," the man repeated patiently, "What is your opinion on this scandalous issue? "

"_What _scandalous issue?" said Michael, a bit afraid to hear the answer.

The weird guy gasped. "You mean… this has been covered up from the public?" He must have noticed Michael's annoyed glare, because he added, "The hospital is being investigated for providing inferior conditions. Ashby Abbott almost _died _because of such neglect."

"Her name is _Ashley_ Abbott, and what does any of that have to do with you?" demanded Michael through gritted teeth. As a lawyer, he'd dealt with all sorts of people, but few had been this annoying.

"Oh, Michael! You're here!" Gloria Abbott pushed the weird guy out of the way and pulled Michael into an embarrassing hug.

"Gloria," Michael acknowledged. "Would you mind telling me why exactly?"

He had received a call from his mother, telling him to come to the hospital as soon as possible. She had been excruciatingly vague, as everyone who'd ever met Gloria Abbott, formerly Gloria Fisher, knew she lived to build drama and suspense. She probably got on fabulously with that weird guy, who seemed pretty much the same in that respect. Although at least Gloria had the advantage of not dressing like a piñata.

"John and I are going to aid Randall here in producing his groundbreaking documentary about the mistreatment going on at Genoa City Hospital. We'd just like to make sure no one else has to endure what Ashley went through."

"But I thought you didn't like Ashley," Michael intoned slowly.

"That doesn't mean I want her dead! Honestly Michael, what a terrible thing to say," gasped Gloria.

"I didn't mean it that way, calm down. But why are you really doing this?"

Gloria sighed, then, leaning in closer, whispered, "Okay, so Ashley and I have had our differences. But I love John, and I'm hoping this will help his children see this. And even if it doesn't, at least John will be happy."

Michael nodded. He didn't say it, but John didn't look happy. In fact, the older man looked exhausted, slumped down in a waiting room chair watching Randall dash around interviewing people who seemed to be desperately trying to avoid him. "Nurse, nurse, could I get your opinion – okay, then, have it your way! Miss, how long have you been a patient here? Miss? I can tell you're not asleep, your eyes were open just a second ago! You, sir… oh, never mind, you're a pillow."

"Oh no. Oh no, oh no!" exclaimed a small voice. Michael looked down to see a small child tugging on his pant leg.

"You're telling me," he muttered, before calling out, "Hey! Anybody lost a little girl?"

"That would be mine," answered Randall, scooping up the giggling toddler in his arms.

"Sir, I'm afraid we can't allow small children in here –" began a nurse.

"Well, where am I supposed to put her than?" Randall interrupted.

"Could you find a babysitter for her?" suggested the nurse.

"I don't trust strangers with her, and my roommates are all here." Randall gestured at the cameramen.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave…"

"I can take her outside," said Michael.

Randall grabbed Michael into the second awkward hug he'd had in the past fifteen minutes. "That would be awesome, thank you. But…" – his expression suddenly turned somber – "that would mean you wouldn't get to be in the film."

"I'm willing to make the sacrifice."

Taking her outside the building was no big deal – there were many windows, so Randall could easily see that she was still there and safe. Aside from getting away from the chaos inside, Michael was really interested in spending time with the kid. He and Lauren planned to have one of their own in not too long, so he might as well get some practice in. "So what's your name?" he asked.

The girl shook her head, sending locks of dark hair flying in all directions. She gurgled something that sounded like "Burger."

Meanwhile, inside the hospital, Randall was pestering the security to let him see their surveillance tapes. "Come _on, _if you show them to me it can prove you guys aren't at fault. Unless you are, of course."

The guard shook his head. "I'm sorry, but only authorized personal have access to those."

"If you don't let me see them, I'll come back with a warrant," threatened Randall.

The guard looked him over. He seriously doubted what the dude said was true, about the warrant. Then again, judging from crime drama's he'd seen on television, they weren't too hard to get. Was that different in real life? He couldn't remember. Nevertheless, he said, "Okay, go ahead. But don't break anything."

At first, the tapes turned out to be rather boring. Since there were no cameras in the ward Ashley was in, there didn't seem to be anything relevant on these. But maybe they could be used as filler footage –

"Wait, pause right there," said Gloria. Randall obliged. "Isn't that Brenda Harris?"

John nodded, "Yes, that's her."

"Who's Brenda Harris?" asked Randall.

Gloria looked him in the eye, her wide eyes filled with solemnity. "A young woman who disappeared recently. In fact, just after this video was taken."

-V-v-V-

The waiting room at the Genoa City police station was designed to give people time to think. It was free of distractions – in other words, painfully boring. At least in theory, that was. There were two white benches, each facing each other across the small room. The walls were the same shade of sanitary white.

Now, Sara and Grissom sat on one bench, across from Catherine. Mr. Lavonne had been taken into questioning. The room was silent save for the gentle sounds of breathing.

Until Grissom took out his cell phone and began dialing, that is. Sara wondered why their phones hadn't been taken away. With each press of a button, the room filled with an echoing beep. In the quiet of the room, Sara could hear the phone on the other end ringing.

_Click. "Hello?" _It was Greg.

"Hello, Greg," said Grissom.

"_Hey. To what do I owe this phone call?" _

"I was wondering if you've heard any news about a Donovan "Dono" Black."

"_Hmm, I don't think so. No wait – just a second." _There was rustling on the other end. _"Yes!"_

"Anything you'd like to declare?" asked Grissom.

"'Nothing but my genius.'" 

"Wilde," recognized Grissom.

"Okay then, how about this one: 'The Fascist octopus has sung its swan song, the jackboot is thrown into the melting pot.'"

"Orwell, Politics And The English Language."

"_Come _on, _who knows that?"_

"Greg, as much as I would like to play guess the quote, can we please get back to my original question?"

"All right, all right. Okay, Donovan Black is one of many aliases used by a recent murder victim."

"What else can you tell me about him? What's his real name?"

"_I'm afraid we don't know much more about him than you. No matches on AFIS and nobody seemed to know him, so no clue which name is legit. Found ID cards all over his place, probably in the business of making them. And _weird _death, the killer left the weapon right on the table. Hey, how do you know about him, anyway?"_

Grissom answered, "We've found someone who knew him. We'll have to wait to see if he can tell us anything more."

"_Definitely call me back if you find out more."_

"I'll do that. You do the same."

"Got it."

The line went quiet and Grissom snapped the phone shut.

That was when Sara realized something. "Guys… does this mean the killer is running around with a bunch of fake identities?"

"It wouldn't be the first time that's happened," Catherine pointed out.

"I know, it's just… this seems more sophisticated than usual," remarked Sara.

"I wouldn't go so far as to refer to a murderer as 'sophisticated,' but this does already seem unusual," said Grissom gravely.

-V-v-V-

"So, you like the place?" asked J.T.

Victoria did indeed like the place. She sat opposite J.T. at the table for two, which was covered in an elegant white tablecloth. It would make such a perfect painting; she loved the colors and their contrast. Red whine in long stemmed glasses, silver utensils, dark polished wood walls, couples in their beautiful special-occasion clothing. Even J.T. had cleaned up nice, in a dark purple dress shirt and red tie, yet still somehow retaining that casual quality of his. Maybe it was the spiked hair, but she guessed it had more to do with those intense, emotional eyes that always seemed to be full of joy, or that easy smile. For a fleeting moment she wished Brad could be more like that, but she shook it off. J.T. was young, he was like all young people. Brad had the wisdom, the grasp on the world that could only be acquired with age.

"I like it very must, J.T.," Victoria said truthfully. She smiled at him and he smiled back. This was definitely not the kind of place she would have expected someone so young to take her, especially not someone she'd met in a run-down bar.

"That's great. I was worried you might be tired of Italian," replied J.T..

"I think Italian food is just one of those things you can never grow tired of. Actually, that describes Italy in general."

"It suits you, then," said the younger man.

"What do you mean?"

"I think it's like you. You know, no one could ever grow tired of you. You're full of surprises."

Victoria answered him with a mysterious smile.

"So, what made you decide to come back?" said J.T..

"Well, my family asked me, and…"

"No, I mean, the real reason. I get the feeling your family wouldn't be able to convince you to do anything you didn't want to."

Victoria laughed softly. "That's true. I guess… I just wanted to see if anything had changed, get back in touch with the people I'd spent so long away from."

"And do you like what you found?"

Victoria flashed her best mysterious smile before leaning in and kissing J.T. on the cheek. "It's wonderful."

-V-v-V-

"I'm telling you Neal, you have to find some way to put a stop to this!"

Neal sighed. "Olivia, how exactly am I supposed to do that?"

The doctor stared into his eyes with the intensity of a laser pointer. "I don't care how, just do something. If that documentary gets made, my job is at stake, as are those of my coworkers."

"Olivia," said Neal, "why are you coming to _me? _I have nothing to do with the hospital."

"You work at Newman Enterprises. Your company is our biggest sponsor, you can't say you don't know anyone in the… well, _the know_. Somebody who has some say in the matter."

"Olivia, I don't-"

"No, I don't want to hear your excuses. Go to Victor Newman if you have to."

Victor Newman? Now that was taking things to far. _Way _too far.

"Look, I know what you're thinking," continued Olivia, "but how do you think Mr. Newman would feel if the hospital he supports so much was shut down? Not to mention how it would reflect on the company."

She actually had a good point there. "Okay, I'll talk to him. But you do know about Victor's reputation, right?"

Olivia frowned. "That he takes desperate measures, you mean? Neal, sometimes desperate measures are the only way to make sure things get done."

"I'll talk to him. But just remember-"

Olivia cut him off. "That you warned me? I don't need a warning, I need someone to take action and get things done."

_Well, _thought Neal, _with Victor Newman involved,_ _you can certainly count on that._


	17. Restaurants

The Darkness Within Her Eyes

Chapter 17

Restaurants

…

Author's note: This chapter contains reference to a past slash (male/male homosexual pairing) relationship, although nothing is actually shown. If this bothers you, you should probably skip the third section of this chapter.

…

Scott's eyes flickered in the bright lights of the restaurant as he sat off to the side, watching with disinterest as the people at his table chattered away. Mostly it was that Gloria Abbot woman who was doing the chattering, something about a movie – he wasn't really listening. Her two sons, his mom, and his mom's fiancé's brother's girlfriend (there had to be a simpler way to say that, but he couldn't think of one at the moment and wasn't going to devote a great deal of thought to the matter) were all there. Every so often his mom would send a concerned glance his way, and he'd attempt to smile at her. The expression felt unnatural, like his muscles had forgotten exactly how to twist his face into the proper shape. Eventually he just gave up and avoided her looks altogether, turning his head like he hadn't seen.

As he was staring down at his drink (water. He'd been trying to detox on stress and he thought tox-ing on other hard-to-shake substances didn't seem like a great way to do it) counting the little cracks in the ice cubes, he got the distinct feeling someone was watching him. He looked up and his eyes connected with those of a young, dark-haired woman in a cocktail gown. "Bored?" she asked, a mischievous smile playing across her face.

"Yeah, I… I don't know," he said.

She laughed. "You want to… come sit over here?" she said, with an inquisitive tilt of her head as she gestured to her booth. It was right beside his own, and he doubted anyone here would miss him too much – all he was doing was bringing down the party, it seemed…

"All right," he said, and she grinned at him as he took a seat across from her. "Do you often go around talking to strangers in restaurants?"

"Nope – you're special. You looked lonely, that's all."

"I'm not the one who was sitting here all alone," Scott pointed out.

"My date didn't show," she said.

"Oh."

"What? What is it?" she asked. She was laughing again.

"I'm just… _surprised,_ that's all," said Scott. The woman had long dark hair and clear tanned skin. She was slim and tall, and, yes, he admitted it, very attractive. There was something mesmerizing about her eyes, like there were layers of different colors to them.

"I'm flattered, but that's not what I mean. You've been staring at me since we've met."

"Says the woman who I caught staring at me first."

"Okay, point taken."

"You just remind me of someone, that's all."

"Someone you like, hopefully?"

"Yeah. A friend." Scott trailed off for a moment. "Hey, I just realized I don't know your name. I'm Scott Fenmorre."

"Sonoia Sae Younge." She extended a hand and Scott shook it.

He realized he was staring at her again, but before she could mention it, he said, "You don't look…"

"Asian? My mother is Chinese, my dad's Welsh. I take after him more."

"Oh."

"Aaaand, you're still staring at me."

"It's nothing. You have interesting eyes, that's all."

"I'd hardly call them interesting, Scott. More like mud brown." A cheer erupted from Scott's old table. Sonoia checked her watch and made a face. "I have to go, and it sounds like something is going on with you friends. Maybe you should head back there?"

"Wait - can I see you again some time?"

"Sure." She reached into her purse and withdrew a small scrap of paper.

She handed the paper to Scott and he saw the name **Sonoia Sae Younge **written on it in thick, curvy letters, along with a telephone number underneath.

-v-V-v-

"Okay. So, everyone, I'd like to make an announcement!" Kevin said, raising his wine glass. An _ooh _went out around the table, followed by laughter.

"Okay, you guys, _shh_," said Michael. He smiled at his brother. "Go on."

"Right. So, I assume you all know Mackenzie and I are getting married."

Everyone at the table cheered, as well as some people at other tables. Kevin continued, "And I wanted to tell you that all of you are invited to the wedding."

Another cheer. 'Hey, great! I don't think I've said it yet, so congratulations!" said Lauren. She hugged Mackenzie, and then Kevin. "So, where is it being held?"

"Actually, it's at the same place Michael and you are getting married," answered Mackenzie.

Kevin nodded. "Yeah, we figured you guys would have good judgment."

"I'm flattered, although this calls to question why you've never taken my advice in your life," Michael said to Kevin dryly.

"Hey, I must have taken it at some point." Kevin held up his hands, mock-hurt. "Nah, I'll try to listen to you more often, Mikey. You're a good brother." Kevin pulled him into a hug and Michael pretended to try to escape before giving in and returning the gesture.

"Mac," said Kevin, turning to his fiancé. "I want to do this right. I would have given this to you yesterday, but I think this is an even better time. When we're surrounded by so many wonderful friends." He reached into his pocket, and his hand reemerged with a small black box.

"Mackenzie, would you be my wife?" He opened the box, and Mac gasped at the sight of the diamond ring, glittering in the light.

"Once again, Kevin, yes. Always yes." There were tears of joy in her eyes as she hugged and kissed her fiancé. "How could you afford this?"

"I had some money put away," said Kevin.

Michael couldn't help but feel happy for the couple. He had to admit, they went together well. Mac was a sensible girl, she could balance out Kevin's wildness, keep him from doing stupid things. And he made her happy. True, they seemed to be rushing into this, but it was their lives, Michael grudgingly admitted he couldn't really do anything to make them slow down.

"So, you guys can make it to the wedding?" said Mackenzie, finally disentangling herself from Kevin, at least enough to speak.

Everyone responded with murmurs of agreement.

"Mikey?" said Kevin.

"I'll be there." To himself, Michael muttered, "_Hoo _boy," before taking a long drink.

-V-v-V-

When the police detainment was finally over, the three CSIs had long missed their flight. "It's another day before the next plane to Vegas," said Catherine back at the hotel, hanging up the phone.

"Well, I'm going out. I'm tired of being cooped up in a hotel room," said Sara.

"Suit yourself, I won't stop you," replied Catherine, flicking on the television. "I'll see if we've made the news yet."

Grabbing her scarf and jacket, Sara headed towards the streets of Genoa City. She walked past the café where she'd met John Abbot what seemed like eons ago. She wondered distantly how his daughter was now.

She suddenly realized she was hungry. She hadn't eaten since long before the interrogation, and her stomach was starting to complain. She stepped into the first place she saw, a sports bar-and-grill type place. Not really her style. She was about to leave when she spotted James Lavonne across the room. "What will it be, miss?" asked a fresh-out-of-highschool-looking waiter.

"Do you have a vegetarian menu?"

"We have salads and roasted vegetable sandwiches."

"I'll have a sandwich and a water. Thanks."

The waiter left and Sara stood up again, taking a seat next to the man who looked so different now that he was not in the context of being shot at. His long hair was tied back and he was eating his meal in silence with a sort of resigned dignity. It struck Sara that if she'd been one of his students, she would probably have immediately thought of him with great respect.

"Oh, it's you," Lavonne acknowledged coolly before returning his full attention to his sandwich and the flickering television across the room.

"Hi," Sara greeted him, then realized she sounded far too cheery. She took a seat next to him and he made no move to stop her. "How are you doing?"

"Been better." He still wouldn't look at her, but the eye roll was implied. His friend had just been murdered and there were hitmen out to get him, how was he expected to be doing?

Sara decided it would be best for both of them if she got right to the point. "Look," she said, "if we're going to help you, you have to be honest."

Finally he met her gaze, his dark brown eyes flashing with anger and pain in the dim lighting; but his voice remained as even as ever. "I've told you all you need to know. Anything else would not only be a waste of time, it would make things worse."

"Why are you so sure everyone's against you?" Sara asked incredulously.

"Experience. When Terry's brother was killed, it looked like none of you did a thing about it."

"Look, I don't know the details of that case. All I know is that on Tuesday a man was killed, and we might not be able to figure out what the hell happened if you don't cooperate."

"Why am I suddenly so important to you?"

"Because you were the only one who knew him. Or at least will admit to it. Why is that?"

James tilted a can of soda back and drained the last drops into his mouth. "I don't know why I'm telling you this." He laughed. "You want the whole story? Don and I were lovers. Shocked?"

"I… I'm sorry for your loss." Sara paused. "Why did you wait so long to tell us?"

"Didn't think you'd all be falling over yourselves trying to help out a gay black dude."

"You think I'm like that? James, I'm not a bigot. And anyway, CSIs are not allowed to let their personal feelings interfere with their-"

"Yeah, yeah," he cut her off. "Anyway, he and I got into a fight the day before he… died." It took Sara a moment to realize James was crying.

"What was it about?" she asked as gently as she could.

"Stupid stuff. Such _damn stupid, _trite stuff. I was actually going over there to apologize when I saw the police… and I fled the city. Man, I'm such a coward."

"Stop beating yourself up. Now that you're cooperating, we can finally help you."

"Nothing can fix what happened," James said quietly. "Nothing can bring Don back."

"At least give him the respect he deserves by being honest."

"We got into an argument. We thought this woman was coming for him, to get a fake ID – Don's – I mean, he was – in the business of making them. I wanted him to stop, but he'd always say he had to do it, that if he pulled out now his old customers would come after him, it would be dangerous. I'd say it was more dangerous to stay in the business. We'd been arguing about it for some time, but that night was really the worst it got. This woman, she'd killed a man. Lots of people from the sound of it. And she had some weird power over him. I was pretty sure they'd been in a relationship, but I never asked. I just sort of got that awkward feeling whenever she was mentioned."

"I thought Don was gay."

James shook his head. "Bi. Do we really need to put labels on everyone anyway? I loved him, that's all that mattered to me. And I thought he loved me too. Sometimes – others, he was really distant. He's a genius, literally a genius, so I thought he was just being… I don't know. But sometimes I got paranoid, started thinking he'd rather be somewhere else. With somewhere else." James smiled sadly. "And now he's the farthest he's ever been from me."

"Thank you. Mr. Lavonne, you've been so helpful," said Sara softly.

James nodded, and a few transparent tears fell rolled down his face and spattered on the table.

"Can I ask you one more question."

"If it will help."

"Do you know the name of this woman?"

"Yes. It's Sheila Carter. And if you catch her, you'd better lock her up the rest of her life. Now that would be justice."


End file.
